Perhaps it is karma?
by Ayshea
Summary: Fred and George have always shared a special bond of friendship, but what happens when Fred starts to experience feelings outside of the norm for what one should feel towards their own brother? Boy/Boy slash, M for later chapters. Don't like don't read!
1. Chapter 1

Howdy people! I don't own any characters or anything in this universe, yadiya-bladibla-the usual! Except for this story of course! I am rather new to writing, but I hope people will find it entertaining regardless! A warning is that this story will contain boy/boy, as well as incest, (as written in the summary), and if this offends you, then I strongly recommend you to avoid reading it. :) Otherwise, please enjoy!

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><p>"Fred, George, you get over here RIGHT NOW!"<p>

The twins broke into a quiet fit of laughter at their mother's shrilling voice. Stealthily, they sneaked into the hallway and escaped into the garden through the backdoor. As they boxed their way through the bushes and set for the big fields, they could hear their mother faintly calling out to them again.

"I don't get what mother is so upset about, do you, Georgie?"

"I don't know, Fred, it might have had something to do with that thing we did."

"I thought she'd appreciate the improvement."

"She will, it just takes a while getting used to it."

They stopped by a big tree which they imagined marked the beginning of their Quidditch field. As everything else that belonged to the Weasley family, save for the brains of the two twins, it was far from grand. The goal posts were rather poorly self-made, and the balls which they would use were more often than not malfunctioning.  
>The two brothers circled the tree and simultaneously dropped down with their backs to it, their faces facing the far-from glorious Quidditch field. Fred closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline rush which a good prank often brought cool off. He felt smug about the perfect timing and execution of the prank they had managed to pull off. Okay, granted, he hadn't expected that their mother would walk in shortly afterwards. Her temper was rarely something either of them aimed to tease with their jokes. But everything else had gone according to plan.<p>

Fred opened his eyes and glanced over to his brother, whom rather predictably was sitting in an identical pose to his, but with his eyes still closed. Summer had left its mark on him in the form of a sunburn across his nose. Fred felt himself smirk, and then drop it when he realized his face was probably in the same state, if not worse. There was the downside with summer and being a pale-faced ginger. Every summer, he and George would both acquire sunburns, although never in the same place. The result was that people at home, not to mention at Hogwarts, could finally tell them apart. At least after learning who's got which sunburn.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when George sleepily asked what the time was. Fred made a complicated answer which included Centaur planet-reading and the positions of the clouds, and he received an elbow in his side for his efforts.

"Do you reckon our beloved mother has calmed down yet?" George mumbled while stretching his arms.

"No idea, Percy's her favourite and all. She might not get over this one." Fred couldn't help smirking broadly.

"Oh yes, I forgot about that. If she had only reminded us more frequently of how we're neglecting school and how Percy the Pinhead should serve as our role-model, I am certain I would never have forgotten." George pulled off a smirk identical to Fred's, and then stretched his legs while adding. "She might have a point, you know. I don't mind quite as much to have Percy as a role model now as I did before."

"Agreed, George. He's improved remarkably lately."

"In particular this week, actually."

"Mostly this half-hour."

The twins burst into laughter, then kicked themselves up. Without bothering with dusting themselves off, they started heading back to the house.

"Do you reckon she's very mad?" Fred asked with only the slightest hint of worry in his voice.

"I think we're about to find out." George replied and pointed ahead. Molly Weasley had just rounded the backyard and was approaching them with furious steps. Her flame-red hair was whipping in the wind and her hands were clenched into tight fists, as to make her the more intimidating.

Fred and George endured approximately an hour of shouting and scolding before their mother turned her attention to cooking. As the two brothers ran upstairs, they were mumbling to one another about their insane luck. One hour only! Though while they had indeed expected far worse, they didn't deem it sensible to test their mother's patience anymore, and they vowed to leave Percy alone, at least until the following day.

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><p>"Fred, George, Harry has come! Get out of your beds this instant!"<p>

No alarm clock, nor any complicated device designed to create the shrillest and most high-pitched of noises, could ever outclass the sweet sound of their mother's voice. Fred groaned and dropped his face into his pillow. He was very excited to see Harry, of course. The house was so much more fun with one of the Wizarding world's top celebrities around. It was just that he had been spending the majority of the night taking notes and shaping an idea for a new practical joke device with George. He was mighty happy with the result (They had filled two whole pages with ideas!) but less happy about the sleep drunk state he now found himself in.

"Georgie, you awake yet?" Fred glanced over to George's bed, which was placed in an identical position as his own, against the opposite wall. This meant that Fred only needed to lie on his left side in order for George to be the first thing he'd see when he'd open his eyes in the mornings. Not like that mattered much. Fred's eyes were usually all gooey when he woke up, and he couldn't tell the difference between his morning-slippers and Crookshanks. Currently, George was a blurry mass of nothingness. The only reason he could tell George was actually there was because of the heavy contrast between his brother's flaming hair and the white sheets of his bed.

"Make a guess." George moaned. By the sound of it, he too was having a good time head-butting his pillow.

"Tough one, as it depends entirely on what one would classify as "awake"." Fred said, and then raised his voice only slightly. "I believe though, that by the probability of Ginny soon barging in and demanding to know why we are taking so bloody long, you may safely be assumed to be quite awake."

"One point to Gryffindor."

"Only one point? You parsimonious bastard."

"Parsi-what? Too much Percy. Way too much Percy."

"Shut up."

The twins crawled their way out of bed and for a couple of moments they just stood there, scratching their sides and rubbing their eyes. Fred was slowly getting his vision back. This usually followed that his sense of balance was improved as well, but not this day. Because of the heavy lack of sleep he was suffering from, he was feeling horribly light-headed and unstable on his feet. He rubbed his eyes once more before eyeing his twin who was leaning with his back against the wall while watching him with an expression fit a funeral.

"Good morning, Tutankhamun." Fred said while wobbling slightly.

"I suppose the whole My-face-is-your-face-retort is getting a bit old?" George replied while sending his brother a teasing glance. Fred ran a hand through his messy hair and rather ungracefully stumbled over to his brother. He leaned with one arm against the wall, his hand a couple of centimeters from George's shoulder.

"A bit old, yeah. But you could always pull off a good old "Shut up". Those never go out of fashion." Fred mumbled, his mouth twitching into a small smirk.

"Nah, I think I'll just settle for pointing out that I'm still better looking than you." George's smirk broadened.

"Not according to Angelina."

"She never said that!"

"She did too."

"Did not."

"Did too!"

Fred hadn't realized that he had moved closer to George during their little quarrel. It was hardly unusual for the two brothers to become rather physical with one another. They often shoved and punched (although only lightly) each other, and occasionally they'd wrestle. He wasn't sure why this time felt different. It might be that he was still suffering from the severest of zombie states, but as he got close to George, his brother had cracked the most mischievous grin and grabbed his shoulder somewhat lazily, and Fred felt himself getting a bit tense. Usually they'd push or pull one another, it was rare that they'd actually hold or grab one another for no purpose. He figured that George had probably meant to wrestle him in some way, but that he was too tired to make an effort and ended up with his hand resting awkwardly on Fred's shoulder instead.

It was as if the air itself changed. It became heavier, or at least it felt like it did, and Fred felt his breathing take on a slightly faster and much more irregular pace than what would be considered normal. George kept looking at him with eyes glazed over, and as Fred moved just a little bit closer, George suddenly clenched the fabric of his brother's pyjama-shirt. Fred was thoroughly and utterly confused, but the confusion (along with his sense, he suspected) seemed to have been pressed to the back of his mind. All he could concentrate on was the new feeling he was experiencing. It was neither unpleasant nor pleasant per se, but he was warm and his hands were twitching. He felt a bit angry and he had no idea why, and the longer they stood there, the heavier became his breathing, and the more he felt himself losing it. Why wasn't George doing anything, damnit? He was just standing there, still holding onto Fred's shirt, his eyes now slightly widened. Fred scarcely noted to himself that his face must wear the oddest of expressions, though he wasn't sure exactly what George would be able to make out from it. Hell, he didn't even know what he was supposed to make of it. He slowly inched closer to his brother, who responded by clenching his shirt even harder. Fred didn't even know what it was that he was planning to do. Hell, he had no idea what he was doing, but something was pulling him closer to his brother, something was compelling him, getting him horribly frustrated, making him want to just grab him, to…-

The twins both jumped as Ginny stormed into the room.

"Mum sent me upstairs to check why you're taking so long. …What are you doing? You're not fighting again, are you?" She said while crossing her arms, her expression torn between amusement and annoyance for having been sent on a messenger's errand.

Fred turned to eye George again and they simultaneously let go of one another. Fred quickly collected himself.

"He was just being a git as always." He smirked, feeling his head pound from the earlier adrenaline rush. George laughed and elbowed his twin brother, and Fred realized that this would be one of the very rare moments in his life where he'd not have a clue about what George was thinking. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Well, come downstairs as soon as you can. If I'm sent to collect you again, I'll hex you both." She turned and stomped out of the room.

Partially from not wanting to be the subject of his sister's very famous Bat-Bogey hex, and partially from wanting to avoid any more privacy with George, Fred hurriedly dressed and ran downstairs. George followed behind him and seemed to be most determined to act like nothing ever happened, or that anything was out of the ordinary. Fred was suddenly struck by the idea that George might not have experienced it anywhere near as intense as himself, and that from his twin's brother's perspective, perhaps it had been nothing more than the two of them leaning on one another in an attempt at wrestling, but simply being too tired to do so, and whatever tension there was had been created from one another's paranoia of suddenly having the other one launch out when they'd least expect it. He weighed the possibility for this to have been the actual case, and it seemed the most probable alternative. He was tired, they had been bickering with each other. It was nothing.

There was nothing else it could have been, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews as well as story alerts, guys! It got me really motivated to write this following chapter! I wrote it in the middle of the night so I hope it is good and doesn't come off as too senile. :) I don't own anything in this universe, etc. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

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><p>Harry's arrival sparked the entire house into life as always. Ron was a lot more animated with his best friend around, and Mrs. Weasley was overall more forgiving about the youngsters spending their time with Quidditch. Harry was a brilliant and enthusiastic Quidditch player as well as a nice person to have around, but most of all, he was a brilliant distraction to the rest of the family. This meant that while everyone were busy swooning over The-boy-who-lived, Fred and George got a lot of time on their hands to put plans into action and create the devices they had spent months conjuring on a piece of paper. They even saw less of Ginny. She spent a lot of time with Hermione who had arrived the same evening, and wasn't quite as interested in the two brother's inventions as she normally was. She remained faithful though, and whenever Fred and George were setting up a prank, she would simply walk past them without a word's warning about it to anyone. The twins vowed that once they'd get their own store running, she would have a personal discount on everything in there, save for love potions.<p>

"Merlin, that was a bang!" George laughed while healing Fred's left leg. They had attempted to enchant a mirror so that anyone who would look into it would instantly gain lazy-eyes. The result was that the mirror broke into pieces. That wasn't so bad; a simple_ reparo_ would fix it. What was bad was that Fred's leg had gotten cut by a flying glass-splinter, and on top of that, his nose was hanging and flopping in a most awkward manner.

"Bloody hell, what went wrong?" Fred muttered, and then flinched as his twin healed his wound shut. He lifted his gaze and found George staring at him with his mouth twitching uncontrollably.

"What?" He glared. George crawled forward, setting his knee down between Fred's legs, and supporting himself with his hand on the floor. Before Fred could react, George poked his floppy nose and burst into laughter. Fred's nose spun around once or twice, like a bizarre windmill made of jelly.

"It's... not... that... aha... bad." George squeaked out while drying his tears with his free hand. Fred picked up a rather large shard of glass from the broken mirror and peered into it, and soon he was laughing just as hard.

"This is way better than the lazy eyes! Turning people into deformed anteaters, we'll earn a fortune on this one!" He said while nodding his head up and down, watching his nose flop along.

"I think it's because we mixed the _Deformo_ with _Oculus_ and added _Demitto_ in the wrong order. Right, let me turn your face back to normal. That extension isn't making you any prettier." George smirked broadly and took out his wand from his back pocket.

"I think it'd do wonders with your face on the other hand." Fred replied, and then shut his mouth tightly as George pointed his wand at him.

"_Finite Incantatem_." He smirked, and Fred felt his nose shrinking back to its normal size.

"Well that's disappointing. It's way too easy to remove. We're gonna need to work on that part." Fred muttered. Now that his nose was returned to normal, he wasn't feeling entirely comfortable with George being so close. He cursed himself for paying attention to it again. It had never bothered him in the past, why now?

To defy his unreasonable feelings, he reached out and grabbed George by the shoulders. Yes, he had absolutely no problem with touching his twin brother. There was no reason for it to make him the very least nervous. Yet the little mental strength that he had worked up fell to pieces at George's look. His brother was looking at him with mild confusion in his eyes, although his mouth was still stretched into a wide smirk from the moment before. Fred closed his eyes and tugged a bit on George's shoulders, urging him closer, and when he felt his brother's fringe against his forehead, he opened his eyes to stare into his mirror image. George's eyes were a bright blue, but they were seldom as wide, nor did they often express such utter confusion, as they did now. Shades of his faded smirk was still traceable as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Why, Fred, going all sentimental on me? Was the trunk so traumatizing?" George's voice was fairly steady, full of its usual good-humour, but remarkably lowered. Fred wasn't sure what to reply. His face was blank, but in his head there was total chaos. George seemed to find their faces a tad too close for comfort and raised his head a bit, exposing his jawline and neck without having an idea of what it'd do to his brother. Fred squeezed George's shoulders and clenched his teeth. Bloody hell, he was so close. He couldn't stand it. It was too much. He had to get out of it before he did something horribly stupid. What exactly, he wasn't sure of. But this was his twin, damnit. Whatever his sick mind would be up to, it couldn't be good.

Closing his eyes again and ignoring the scent of George which seemed to burn as he breathed it in, he focused his mind on coming up with an excuse. It wasn't hard; he was a Weasley twin, after all.

"No." He breathed, and then cleared his throat while letting go of his brother. "Because we're gonna need to try the spell again, and you're next in line, I wanted to savour the memory of you like this. Ugly as bat-dump and all."

He realized that despite the obvious insult, his excuse had still involved too much emotion, and he was quick to add;

"It can only get better. I wonder if your sunburn will extend too."

George cracked a broad smirk and Fred felt utterly relieved. He had gotten away with it. They continued their work a tad more enthusiastically than before, Fred especially was determined to act completely normal and display only high spirits. Yet while they were laughing at George's new trunk, which had not only extended his sunburn but also added a nasty looking wart at the side of it, he couldn't help but feel a sting of frustration in not knowing what was on his brother's mind. Was he really as carefree as he looked? Perhaps he really hadn't noticed. Fred prayed it to be so, and swore to himself that from now on, he would have no more strange urges towards his own brother. It was only three days left until they would return to Hogwarts, and he vowed that he'd ask Angelina for a date. That's what he needed, some female company to turn him normal again. Not like he was feeling anything like_ –that-_ for George, that'd be absolutely disgusting in more than one way. He just needed to… blow off some steam, and dating someone was one way to do it.

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><p>Three days went by fast, and the twins were proud of their success in creating and completing their new "Mirror of truth." Fred was getting more confident again. He hadn't had a single one of –those- moments for the past three days. The fact that he had strictly kept the distance of at least one meter from George was something he'd rather not reflect upon as a reason for his success in maintaining his self-control. He was packing his trunk (The one you bring things in, not the sort of thing Elephants have) while considering in what way he'd ask Angelina out. He usually didn't give much thought on those kind of things; he and George were masters of improvisation. But he found it healthy to occupy his mind with as many normal things as possible, especially considering that George was hovering dangerously close to him while packing his own stuff. Their mother had shouted at them for not having packed their things the day before ("Percy finished packing his trunk two days ago! Why do you always wait until the last minute?") and they were determined to be done with it as soon as possible in hope of decreasing the amount of angry stomping coming from their mother downstairs.<p>

Soon they were all gathered outside, throwing their luggage into their father's tiny Ford Anglia (which as always had an extension charm on it, a secret well-kept from Mrs. Weasley). Fred and George were going to sit together with Percy (Who had been persuaded by his mother to see his siblings off at the platform before returning to his work at the Ministry) and Ginny in the car a co-worker of their father had volunteered, leaving Hermione, Harry, Ron and their mother to go with their father. The twins considered themselves both lucky and unlucky for having been put in the same car as their pompous brother. Needless to say, they tormented him all the way to the station, and before they just arrived they were going to attempt to make him look into the Mirror of Truth, but Ginny stopped them before they could produce the device from the bag which held their Hogwarts uniforms, nodding in direction of the driver and co-worker of their father. Indeed, it might have been risky to show off an unknown magical object in the presence of someone who works for the Ministry of Magic. Clever little sister. Perhaps they should consider hiring her for their business in the future.

Their walk through London station to Platform 9¾ passed without much hassle, save for Percy's endless, pompous ranting which had started as soon as they stepped out of the car and he was reunited with the only person who could stomach listening to him for longer than five minutes – Hermione. The prospect of getting onto the Hogwarts Express was as always a happy business for the twins, save for that their mother always tended to cry. She kissed them goodbye and their father patted them on the shoulders before they went onto the train in search for an empty compartment. As they walked through the corridor, people happily waved and called out for them. It would seem like their popularity had survived another summer. As the twins passed by a girl in the corridor whom they identified as Padma Patil, she stared at them as if in shock, and extremely timidly returned their hello before she slipped into a compartment full of other girls. George turned to Fred and they shrugged to one another before entering the compartment next to the girls'. It was empty, lucky them. As they made themselves comfortable they spotted their mother waving outside, and George leaned over to hold open the window while Fred stuck out his head.

"Oh Fred, look after your little sister. And you be good now."

"I'm not Fred, I'm George. Honestly, woman, when will you start to tell the difference?" Fred replied and George shook his head in mock disapprovement.

"I'm sorry, dear George."

"Just kidding, I am Fred!"

Molly Weasley's reply was interrupted by the train's loud signal of departure. She instantly collected herself and spoke sternly.

"I want no trouble from the two of you this year. When you come home for the Christmas holidays, I will be very happy to hear how you have both laid off the prankster nonsense and improved your grades! Well, Fred, George, have a good year! And do say hi to Professor Dumbledore, should you get the chance! Oh, and don't neglect Ron, look after him as well as your sister! Well then, bye boys!"

Fred returned his head inside the compartment and George shut the window. They waved at their parents as the train took off, and soon the view outside was spoiled by the speed of the train. Fred leaned back and looked at George sitting across from him, and was just about to speak when Lee Jordan came running in.

"Fred, George! Check out this photo album I've got! I gathered pictures from last year of all of our pranks! Well…except for the one in the girl's bathroom, because I couldn't be in there to take the picture. Here." He handed over the album to Fred, and George moved over to have a better look.

"Bloody brilliant! This one is my favourite." Fred tapped on one of the pictures where Crabbe and Goyle were running around in panic. Their chins seemed to be duplicating and swelling in a more than grotesque way.

"Yeah, but when Millicent Bulstrode burped out green smoke was quite the golden moment as well!" George exclaimed and flipped the pages in search for the picture. "Here it is! Golden!"

"I don't know." Lee said and grimaced. "It makes me a bit sick."

Fred laughed and turned the page, his gaze landing on a prank they had set up for Ron on Valentine's day. Fred and George were standing next to their younger brother, who was seemingly trying to argue with them but kept interrupting himself due to the sparkles and rainbows that emitted every time he attempted to use his voice. Soon he was covered in sparkle-dust and was frantically trying to brush it off himself without success while the twins were laughing hysterically. While looking at the photo, Fred was struck by a realization. He and George had changed. Not grown remarkably taller or fatter or something, but they had changed. The picture was taken only about half a year ago, yet he could swear they looked completely different now. Truthfully, they had gotten their hair cut in a new style. They hadn't changed style on purpose, but they had actually gone to a barber for once instead of having their mother do it, since they could afford it with the money they had earned selling products at school pre-summer. The barber had insisted on teaching them a spell which would form their hair, making it a bit spikier. ("So that it looks a bit more playful and wild! It suits your lovely faces, indeed it does! You see, this hairstyle shows off your nice jawlines and elegant features!") Fred wasn't sure about the idea of a guy having "elegant features" being such a positive thing, but they had gone along with it. They used the spell every morning to set their hair into the correct shape for the hairstyle (Honestly, they had to, otherwise the fringe kept getting into their eyes) and Fred felt forced to admit that when comparing their current looks with the photograph, they were remarkably improved.

He glanced to George who was animatedly telling Lee something, and he was struck by spotting another change. George had-…well, the two of them had gotten more fit. He tried to figure out in what way. An increase of muscles? More wiry arms? Broader shoulders? His gaze trailed over George, his eyes focusing on his neck, his hands, his chest, and the way his legs were spread in such a casual yet somehow ridiculously elegant manner. Catching himself staring, he quickly returned to the picture in the album.

"Hey, Fred, hand it over! I gotta show you guys this on page eight. It's got the one with Filch and the rope." Lee said.

"Wicked." The twins said in unison and leaned over to have a better look.

The three of them spent at least an hour looking through the album, laughing about the pictures and the memories, and talking about the possibilities of pulling them off again. There was rarely anything more fun than the same victim walking into the same trap twice. Lee was in the middle of explaining a new idea of his when the compartment doors suddenly opened and Ron walked in, followed closely by Hermione, Harry and Ginny. The place suddenly became very stuffed and they had to squeeze together to fit everyone. George was pressed tightly against Fred's side, and after only a couple of seconds he stretched his arm and, complaining about being mashed, he put it around his brother's shoulders. Fred let nothing show on his face, he even endeavoured to keep his head clear. He quietly congratulated himself when he found he could stay normal. He had a feeling it had something to do with there being others in their company. The air wasn't at all as tense as when they were close and alone.

"So what are you doing here anyway?" He asked, addressing mainly Ron.

"Not like we don't enjoy your company, Harry." George smirked. "I reckon Ron just needs his diapers changed."

"Shut up!" Ron said, his ears turning red. He was glaring at his twin brothers, and Fred couldn't help but get curious. "I was just wondering why in the name of Merlin you two are being talked about all over the bloody train!"

"We're always talked about, baby brother." George waved a dismissive hand.

"Yeah, someone's got to take people off Harry's back once in a while." Fred nodded.

"And since you're not managing very well in doing that, we thought we'd help."

"I'm not actually sure what we did, but I have a feeling it has something to do with the natural brilliance that befalls us."

"Too true, Fred."

"Not too far off, actually." Ginny said neutrally. "I overheard the girls in the compartment next to this one. They were saying you both turned even better-looking during the summer. And apparently, they like your new hairstyles."

"New hairstyles?" Ron said and looked from Fred to George. "Blimey, I haven't even noticed." Hermione glanced to him once and Ginny seemed to resist rolling her eyes. Ron continued: "What about their hair? I don't get it. What's going on?"

"Fred and George changed a lot over summer and the girls are noticing it." Ginny said matter-of-factly. "That's about it, really."

The twins glanced at each other, and then simultaneously turned to smirk broadly at their younger brother.

"If you ever want any tips with the ladies, Ron, you can only ask us."

"We can't guarantee that we're able to help you, though. We can teach the ways of charming and stuff…"

"…But to pull it off would sort of require you to be at least a little bit charming…"

"Oh sod off." Ron muttered, and then turned to Harry. "Have you noticed any difference with them?" Harry merely shrugged his shoulders, and Fred suspected that he indeed had noticed a difference, but was trying to avoid making Ron look like a twat.

"Actually, baby brother, we would advice you to get a haircut yourself…" Fred smirked.

"…If it wasn't for the fact we're afraid your face may get exposed." George finished.

"Sod off." Ron repeated in annoyance. He turned to Harry who had started a quiet conversation with Lee about the upcoming Quidditch season. "Harry. Let's go?" Harry nodded and spoke a couple of final words to Lee before the party of four stood up, took their leaves and left the three troublemakers to themselves again.

Time went really fast from then on. They switched to their school uniforms, got off the train and got onto one of the carriages whilst hearing Hagrid as per usual greet Harry and shout for the first years to gather. While heading for the castle they chatted eagerly with one another about the new school year they were facing, and once they arrived they had a brilliant dinner in the great hall, and got to cheer for the sorting hat which had as always delivered a great song. They stretched their necks when the new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher was announced. They were surprised to find that the man was neither very scarred nor old, but that he was in fact rather young-looking. He might have been pleasant to look at if it wasn't for his emotionless, almost grumpy expression. His black hair was combed to the side and his skin was a couple of shades darker than what could be considered normal for English standards. Fred snapped his attention to Dumbledore as he held his usual speech, and he and George smirked broadly at one another as Dumbledore gave the usual reminder of the Forbidden Forest being strictly forbidden.

"So many forbidden things in this school, don't you think?" George said as they were heading for their common room.

"You make it sound like it matters to us." Fred replied with a broad smile.

"Well it does in one way. Things get just a tad more exciting when you're breaking a rule. The forbidden is always more tempting than the allowed, isn't it?"

They had stopped outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, and George was looking intently at Fred, who felt a slight shiver travel up his spine. He knew George was really talking about the breaking of school rules, and that his intensity only came from his passion for doing so. But he couldn't help but be affected regardless.

"Too true, George." He replied while pulling off a broad grin. He then swiftly turned to the Fat Lady and said the new password "_Veritas_."

When they were finally in their beds, George's words kept playing themselves on repeat in Fred's head. It was certainly true; forbidden things were always more tempting than the allowed, at least to the adventurous and daring. But how bloody far are you allowed to take that? When does **forbidden** turn into outright **wrong**?

He closed his eyes and willed himself to ponder over what kind of person the new DADA teacher was, and whether he'd be worth listening to or not.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys! Sorry about taking so long with updating. I was on a visit to London (For the first time in my life!) and it was so exciting! I want to thank you for the reviews, they are what keeps me going! I can promise you some action in this chapter. Hee-hee. Hope you enjoy!

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><p>The new DADA teacher turned out to be better than any of the students had expected. The fact that he had chosen for the first lesson to consist of no reading but only the practicing of offensive spells was not the only surprising thing about his character. When the students had perceived his dark brown hair and deep, nearly black eyes, along with his olive skin, they hadn't been prepared for his accent to be French. His name was Marvin Moreau and he had grown up in France but had spent about five years in Britain. His name was the only information he had volunteered, the rest had been forced out of him by a pair of very curious Slytherin girls. When Professor Moreau had said the magic words ("Put your books away."), the whole room had responded with excited murmurs. The lesson all in all had been a great success, and during lunch it was the talk of the Gryffindor table.<p>

"It was bloody well brilliant." Lee commented. "You have something to look forward to, Harry."

"Did you say he spoke with a French accent?" Hermione intercepted while raising her eyebrows.

"Don't get too excited, Hermione." Fred winked at her. "Let the poor sod be. He's already had a bunch of Slytherin girls turning half his lesson into a dating interview."

"Honestly, I thought he'd hex them there for a moment." George said.

"But he turned out to be a mighty generous man."

"Yeah, he gave us all the honours of doing so instead."

"Bless him."

"It's a bitf weirdf fhough, isnf't it?" Ron said while chewing greedily on a piece of sausage. Hermione gave him a look of disapproval which he completely missed. "He'sh sfo young an' all." He finally swallowed and continued. "I heard he's a former auror. Makes you wonder why he became a teacher. He can't have seen much battle yet, I mean."

"I thought the same." Hermione said thoughtfully. "But his looks may be deceptive. He may prove to be older than he looks. Regardless, his age shouldn't determine whether he is to be respected or not. He's clearly fit for the job, otherwise Dumbledore wouldn't have hired him."

"Yeah, because Dumbledore only hires the best." Fred said.

"Indeed. Lockman was my personal favourite, with the death eater on a close second place." George followed up.

"They would have both been very competent if they had proven to be who they claimed to be." Hermione pointed out. "Dumbledore also hired Professor Lupin, and he was everyone's favourite."

"Blimey, I miss Lupin's lessons." Ron groaned. "I'll never forget Snape in Neville's grandmother's dress. Never."

"Speaking of Snape, we're going to be late for potions." Hermione stood up. "We have DADA right after. It will be interesting to hear Professor Moreau, don't you think, Harry?"

Harry had been remarkably quiet during the whole conversation, and as Hermione spoke to him he snapped to attention and agreed. He and Ron both stood up and after giving a quick "Catch you later" to the twins and Lee, they followed Hermione towards the dungeons.

"Was it just me, or did Harry seem a bit out of it?" Lee said while raising his eyebrows.

"He must have a lot on his mind." George said and shrugged.

"Better enjoy it while it lasts. Season's first Quidditch match is approaching. I'm sure he'll be back in his true Wood-spirit soon enough." Fred smirked.

"Speaking of that." Lee said and leaned over the table while narrowing his eyes. "You guys made the team again, didn't you?"

"What kind of a question is that?" Fred raised his eyebrows in mock disapproval.

"Here we always thought you a reasonably smart fellow, Lee." George said.

"Just making sure." Lee grinned. "You should seriously consider getting a pair of different coloured pants or something, though. It's a pain to tell you guys apart when you're a blur in the sky."

"Sorry Lee, uniform rules are strict." George brushed some dust off his shoulder. "Besides, I don't begrudge my dear brother some spotlight. I don't mind people mistaking my great deeds to be his doing."

"There is actually one really easy way to tell us apart." Fred smirked. "It's just too bad we are required to wear pants."

The twins' afternoon consisted of nothing but Transfiguration where Professor McGonagall was teaching the class how to properly turn a desk into a cabinet. That task alone wouldn't have been so hard, if she hadn't required there to be living birds inside of it. Fred had the joy of watching McGonagall scold Lee for enchanting his cabinet to contain bright red spiders instead of beautiful birds, with the result of half the room quickly abandoning their own assignments and seeking shelter against the nearby walls. While Lee was arguing for his innocence, claiming it to have been a mere mistake ("I didn't mean to! I promise, Professor!") And thus earning himself a detention, George leaned over to Fred and mumbled.

"Hey, Angelina is looking at me." He raised his eyebrows, looking both a bit surprised and a bit cocky. Fred glanced to Angelina and saw her immediately looking away as he met her gaze.

"No way, she was looking at me." Fred gave George a challenging grin in reply, and George responded by elbowing his brother in the side.

"Speaking of sweet things" Fred glanced to Angelina once more and smirked. "How about a little trip to our honey after class?" He suggested. 'Honey' was their nickname for Honeydukes, the sweet shop in Hogsmeade. Quite contrary to what one would imagine, they rarely went there for the temptation of the candy, but rather for the necessary ingredients for many of their pranks. To create a toe-swelling caramel, they'd be needing an actual caramel.

"Sounds good. Better watch out, though. Filch seems to have taken a liking to the corridor with the Crone, you know." George muttered in reply. He was about to add something, but was interrupted by McGonagall's suddenly raised voice.

"Since you seem quite fond of talking, Mr. Jordan, I'd feel bad for sending you on a detention in solitude. Mr. and Mr. Weasley seem to have plenty of interesting things to talk about." She raised her chin and eyed the twins, who both had their smirks wiped off their faces. "Mr. Filch will meet you in the entrance hall at 8 o'clock this evening. Now, if there is anyone else who find themselves eager to join Mr. Jordan and the Mr. Weasleys in their evening activities, do speak up now. I will have silence and concentration for what remains of class."

In this way, the twins' earlier made plans were abruptly crushed, and instead of looking forward to a date with honey, they now had a date with Filch. When class was dismissed and Professor McGonagall had given them one last nasty look, they joined up with Lee and walked towards the Gryffindor tower.

"Yikes, Lee. Pulling off a prank on McGonagall's lesson?" Fred said and raised his eyebrows.

"Of all bonkering bonkerdom, this is the most bonkers." George said.

"Absolutely demented."

"I really do hate birds!" Lee groaned, and the twins stared at him before flashing identical grins.

"Really? Good to know." They said in unison.

They halted themselves when spotting Harry in the corridor. He had his back to them and seemed to be holding his wand.

"Hey, Harry!" Lee shouted, and when Harry turned his head to look over his shoulder, a bright light of blue suddenly headed for his front. Fred barely registered that Harry was facing Draco Malfoy before Harry had turned on the spot again. The-boy-who-lived and Gryffindor seeker had incredible reflexes, and it had not taken him long to summon a protego and sent a Full Body-Bind Curse right back at his opponent. Malfoy only just dodged the spell by throwing himself sideway and almost fell over in the process. The twins and Lee all drew their own wands, but no one stepped forward just yet. They knew that it was Harry's fight, but above all, they knew he could handle it.  
>According to Fred and George Weasley, there were few people in the world more obnoxious and pathetic than Draco Malfoy. They had watched him pick on Harry all too many times. This in combination with his obvious pureblood-mania and manipulative snake of a father all summed up a picture too annoying for him to be labeled anything but a slimy git. Not that all these components were necessary for such a brand to be given. For all Fred and George's concerns, the twat's face would have been enough to send him to Azkaban.<p>

The fight was over as quick as it had started. When Malfoy realized he was heavily outnumbered he immediately lowered his wand, and the Gryffindor quickly ceased to attack him. Fred both admired and disapproved of Harry's chivalry.

"Got yourself some back-up, Potter?" Malfoy sneered while running his left hand through his white-blond hair. "Not what I expected from your usual Gryffindor nobility. Maybe you've got some brains after all."

"Where is -your- back-up then, Malfoy?" Harry replied darkly, his emerald eyes burning behind his glasses.

Malfoy smirked crookedly and straightened himself, obviously confident with the fact that Harry would never strike anyone, not even him, when his opponent was unguarded. "None of your business, Potter." He cocked his head arrogantly.

"Harry, I'm overwhelmed, you really didn't have to." George suddenly spoke, and the twins moved forward, Fred placing himself on Harry's right side, George on his left.

"This is the second best present we ever got from you, honestly." Fred spoke in equal good humour, but Harry didn't take his eyes off Malfoy, who suddenly seemed a bit nervous. He looked from one twin to the other, and an audible gulp confirmed that he was aware that the chances of his situation having a pleasant outcome were remarkably decreased. His silver eyes glanced from left to right for a possible escape, but before he could even consider running, he was hit by two spells at the same time. He slammed into the wall behind him and fell onto his knees, except they weren't really knees anymore. It appeared like his legs had been turned into stone, and when he tried to move, he found that they had frozen in the kneeling position he had landed himself in.

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><p>Draco Malfoy felt his face go warm from the humiliation of being semi-permanently locked into a worshipping position in front of Saint Potter and the stupid blood traitors. He glared at the floor and didn't dare to reach over for his wand lest he'd be hit by another spell and end up with a matching pair of stone hands. The twins kept laughing between one another, and the boy with dreadlocks, Jordan or something, was loudly complimenting them for what he called a 'masterpiece'. Surprisingly, Draco Malfoy was yet to hear a comment from Potter. He carefully looked up, ready to murder his rival with his gaze, when he found that the emerald-eyed boy wasn't even looking at him. He was, in fact, just turning around to continue his walk down the hall. The blood traitors and their friend followed while glancing over their shoulders and laughing at Draco's pitiful situation. He groaned and reached for his wand.<em> Damn commoners, filthy muggle-lovers.<em> He tried to concentrate on de-hexing his legs, and to not dwell too much on how satisfied the ginger twins must be.

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><p>Fred and George were undeniably beaming as they entered the common room with Harry and Lee. The detention with Filch which had ruined their original plans of productivity was less of a disappointment now that they had done something worthwhile. Harry ran up the stairs to his dormitory and returned soon with a parchment in his hand. He excused himself with that he was already late for his DADA lesson, and quickly escaped out of the portrait hole again. Fred checked the time and pointed out to George that if they skipped dinner, they could manage a trip to honey before their detention. They considered this for a while before agreeing that neither of them were much inclined to do so, and they settled for simply hanging out in the common room until dinner.<p>

Ron was very impressed with Professor Moreau and would probably have spent the whole dinner speaking of the DADA lesson, if it wasn't for him being so hungry. Harry was even more quiet than earlier, and Hermione had to ask him a question twice before he realized he was being spoken to.

Lee's spirit was starting to fail him as the time for the detention was drawing near. Filch's detentions tended to be anything but pleasant. Most people would have still preferred him to Professor Snape, but the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan thought differently. They were so infamous with the Hogwarts' caretaker that they could do nothing but expect to be put in exceeded misery.

"I'd say I'm curious about what the old bat has in store for us." Lee said as they were walking towards the entrance hall. "But I think I rather not know."

All three of them were dressed in rather casual muggle outfits. Whatever task they were to be given, it was likely that robes would just be in their way. Lee was wearing a bright red shirt which was bound to annoy Filch, while Fred and George had just settled for white shirts, jeans and black belts. Identical ones, of course.

"Not like we have much of a choice in the matter." George said while rolling up one of his sleeves. "We'll find out regardless of our wishes."

"I for one am hoping he'll have us clean out his office or something." Fred smirked.

"I would share your hopes, Fred. But one's got to be realistic. Filch isn't gonna let us anywhere near his office, considering last time." George said.

"Why? What did you do last time?" Lee asked curiously.

"Oh, we didn't actually do anything wrong." George said while smirking.

"No, all we did was a thorough job." Fred agreed.

"Cleaned out everything."

"Including his drawers of confiscated items."

The three barely had time to laugh before Filch was before them. Turns out that Filch indeed needed his office cleaned, but as expected he was less willing to let the Weasley twins take on the task. He therefore sent Lee to do the office-cleaning, with a strict warning that Mrs. Norris would keep a close eye on him all the time. He then brought Fred and George to Professor Trelawney's workquarters, the divination classroom.

"Professor Sybill Trelawney needs the crystal balls cleaned and polished. She had a class today where every student sported with sticky fingers after an unsuccessful class of Herbology." Filch snarled as they stopped just below the stairs leading to the trapdoor, his mouth twitching into an unpleasant sneer and his eyes sparkling with ill will. "So convenient that something like this happens just in time for your detention."

Fred and George quickly climbed up the shaky stairs, wanting to get rid of Filch as soon as possible. It was a good thing that the old bat was far from capable of climbing anything. The twin brothers were sure to be left in peace.

"Think Lee's gotten his hands on anything worthwhile?" George asked Fred while juggling one of the rags that had been left at their disposal.

"Hardly, Georgie." Fred replied before lifting one of the greasy crystal balls. It was heavier than he had expected, and he bit his lip while trying to hold it up for George to take it. "Bloody...ugh, Mrs. Norris won't let him out of her mean sight."

George accepted the crystal ball and quickly turned to a nearby desk. He had clearly intended to place it there, but was unprepared for how very heavy it was. Fred saw how George first stumbled forward, and then started falling backwards, his arms hugging the heavy crystal ball. Fred threw himself forward, on instinct trying to save his brother, but when he took a hold of George's arm there was nothing he could do but to be pulled down himself as well.  
>With a rather loud "Ouff" from George and a curse from Fred, the twins landed on a pile of red satin pillows. The crystal ball had flown out of George's arms and was now noisily rolling across the floor. Fred breathed in the scent of old perfume-drenched cloth before he raised his head from the pillow. Blue eyes met blue, and he only now realized he had landed on top of George, and was staring straight into his eyes.<p>

_Calm down, don't panic. If you don't think about it, it won't be there._ Fred thought to himself. He was vaguely aware that George was saying something, but he couldn't hear what, because the breath of his brother was tickling his lips and making his head spin. He forced himself to concentrate on his twin's words.

"Fred? Uhm... what's up? You're..." George paused, redness spreading over his face and his eyes widening. "You're looking a bit strange."

"Sorry." Fred breathed. He silently evaluated their position to himself. His leg was in between George's, and one of his hands was still gripping his brother's arm while the other rested on one of the pillows. George shifted a bit and Fred's mind nearly exploded at the friction. Without being able to help himself, he let out a low groan, too passionate to disguise as anything but a sound of restrained pleasure. George froze.

"W-What... Uh, Fred?" He stammered, desperately trying to call his brother back to earth. Fred felt as though he had no control over his body anymore. Mechanically, he clenched and lifted his brother's arm to place it on the cushions above his head. He loosened his grip slightly, trailing his fingers over the pale skin until he reached George's wrist. George had stopped moving, and it would seem he had also stopped breathing, but when Fred tightened his fingers around George's wrist in a rock solid grip, the latter seemed to finally react. George let out a low gasp of surprise and moved his free hand to Fred's shoulder, clenching the fabric of his shirt.

"Fred, honestly, what's going on? Why are you... looking at me like that... It's..." George started, but was interrupted when Fred lowered his head to hover his lips just inches away from his brother's.

Fred felt as if his mind was completely emptied of all its rationality and sensibility. He had never felt such intense urges in his life, and having to fight them all at once proved to be more trying than racing Harry on broomsticks. When George let out a shaky breath against his lips, he couldn't help himself and carefully pressed himself against his brother's body. George let out a low groan, and Fred felt the adrenaline rush cloud his mind. He knew that what he was doing was wrong. Not just wrong, but horribly forbidden as well. He started to feel angry and restless. Somehow, the feeling of it being forbidden made it even more tempting to give in, and that realization made Fred's pulse pound loudly in his ears.

George was just about to speak, probably to protest, when his lips suddenly were attacked by Fred's. He twitched and tried to move the arm trapped over his head, but it was fruitless. Fred was empowered by the adrenaline and George groaned as his brother once more pressed himself down against him, remarkably rougher this time. When Fred finally pulled back, he did so only to resume kissing George down his jaw and neck, his hips grinding against him mercilessly.

"F-Fred... What... Oh fuck..." George groaned as Fred breathed into his ear. His hand quickly found itself on Fred's hip, pulling him and encouraging his raw movement. Fred almost couldn't believe this was happening. He was in detention with George. So far, that's normal. He and George had messed up somehow and clumsily tumbled over on the floor. Again, that's fairly normal. But they had not gotten up. They hadn't laughed and helped each other up, dusted off their shoulders and attacked each other with witty remarks. No, they had somehow ended up like this; two identical boys ravaging each other's bodies like starving animals.

Fred violently reached for George's belt and had to lift himself slightly to gain access to it. The moment he removed the pressure between them - the thing that was feeding their insanity the most, they both startled and froze. Fred slowly raised his head from George's neck and stared wide eyed into his brother's eyes. They were both breathing irregularly and rapidly while realization slowly dawned on them.

George glanced down to Fred's hand firmly holding his nearly unclasped belt. Fred followed his gaze and suddenly felt extremely sick. The nausea threatened to overpower him and he felt his stomach twist. _Merlin... what have I done? What the fuck am I doing? Oh fuck. Shit._

Fred threw himself off his brother and landed in a sitting position with his back against the foot of the desk George had failed to place the crystal ball on earlier. He supported himself with both hands on the floor by his sides and ignored the pain in his back from the sudden impact, his chest heaving as he stared at George.

George was slowly rising to a sitting position. He rubbed his sore wrist absentmindedly while meeting Fred's gaze with an expression of shock. He looked like a complete mess; shirt creased, hair unruly, belt nearly unbuckled and red marks along his lips, jaw and neck. Fred felt another surge of lust accompanied by heavy nausea and had to look away. He dropped his head and stared at the floor in between his legs while trying to control his breathing. He heard a shuffling noise and supposed that George had gotten to his feet. Fred didn't dare to look up, he had no idea what to do.

**_Fuck. What the bloody hell have I done?_**


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys! Sorry for the wait! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, even though it may be a bit angsty! Thank you for your reviews, they are truly what keeps me going!

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><p>Time seemed to have stopped, and Fred had no idea for exactly how long he had just been sitting there. His thoughts swirled rapidly in his mind, too fast and too uncontrolled for him to be able to grasp them. His body seemed to be at war with him. There was not a single part of him that felt normal. His sweaty hands were shaking, his chest ached with anxiety and wouldn't allow him to take full breaths, his legs were itching, his head exploding, and his stomach... oh god, his stomach. It was as if a pair of hands were clenching his guts, kneading and twisting them like dough.<p>

Flashes from what had happened kept blinding him and he closed his eyes in an attempt to make them go away. Hell, he was certain that of all the things he had ever done in his life, this was the most messed up, the most unbelieveable and the most WRONG. He thought of George's uncertain, confused expression, and how he had tried to fight back against Fred's forcefulness, only to... to... Fred felt his stomach make a violent somersault as he remembered George's hand on his hip. His ears rang with faint memories of his brother's moaning, but he couldn't be certain if George had been protesting of approving. The moment that thought entered Fred's head, he quickly disregarded it, feeling the greatest panic and nausea yet. Of course George hadn't approved; LIKED it. That'd be...

Fred swallowed repeatedly, forcing the content of his stomach to stay there. Good Godric, what was wrong with him? If the opportunity was presented to him, he'd happily admit himself to St. Mungo's.

"Um, Fred...?"

He'd need a good couple of healers to himself, perhaps a whole department. He'd be on the front page of The Daily Prophet when it was discovered that he was suffering from a whole new kind of mental disease, previously unknown to the magical world.

"Fred...?"

He'd spend the rest of his life as a subject to medical research. He'd be stuck in the hospital, with hospital food and other mental patients as his only company. It didn't sound too bad, actually. It would mean that at least he'd be kept away from George. Yes, George would never have to worry about being phyiscally assaulted by his own brother again.

Fred opened his eyes when he heard the sound of something heavy rolling across the floor. Something solid and cold came in contact with his leg. One of the crystal balls. He swallowed audibly and carefully looked up at George, who was still standing by the great cushions, looking anywhere but at Fred.

"We'd better get this finished." George spoke, his voice shaking slightly. "Filch will be collecting us soon. We'd better not test his patience too much tonight, if we want him off our backs for later."

Fred mechanically pulled himself up. His legs felt like jelly, and for a moment his chaotic thoughts were interrupted by him wondering if he would even be able to lift the heavy crystal ball while in such state. He bent down to collect it and surprised himself with his strength. It seemed the adrenaline hadn't left his body yet. He could hear George move, but didn't dare to look his way again.

Fred groaned quietly to himself. He had better put himself together. Even if what had happened was one of the most disastrous things that could happen, he had to simply accept it had. He wished so bad that he could be away from George for a while - a feeling which seldom struck him. But honestly, what do you say after you just snogged the magic out of your own brother? What, by Dumbledore's undergarments, do you DO after you just tried to... to...

Merlin, Fred wasn't sure what he had tried to do. He felt his face flush as he remembered the moment he had stopped. His hand had been on George's belt, in the middle of pulling it off. Oh bloody hell.

Fred turned to place the crystal ball on the desk where it was originally meant to have been placed upon. He couldn't help but glare at it a bit, silently blaming it for what had happened. If that stupid ball hadn't been so heavy, George would have placed it on the desk, and that would have been the end of it. Mumbling, he grabbed a nearby rag and started polishing the crystal ball roughly. If Lee hadn't been so bloody dimwitted and messed up at McGonagall's lesson, they wouldn't even be here. Nothing would have happened.

Fred glanced over his shoulder once and spotted George sitting on a chair. His brother was staring-without-seeing at the crystal ball in his lap while polishing it, his movement slow and distracted. Fred twitched and had to steady his own crystal ball before he knocked it over completely.

An hour passed, and the silence between the two felt so heavy that Fred could have choked on it. He would never have thought he'd be happy to hear Filch's unpleasant, croaking voice call for them.

Fred threw his dirty rug to the side and quickly escaped the room, sprinting down the unsteady stairs and hardly stopping to hear Filch complain about the noise he was making. He had expected to hear George's hurried steps behind him, but he heard only the echo of his own fast-paced stomping. When he stopped at the portrait of the fat lady and daringly glanced over his shoulder, he saw for certain that he was alone. A great dilemma now presented itself to him. Should he go look for George? Hell, if he did, he was sure he'd have no idea what to say. But if he didn't, what would George think? Would he think he didn't care? Would he think Fred selfish? Fred started moving back, but was overwhelmed by nausea at the thought of standing face to face with George so soon again. Feeling like a coward, he sheepishly gave the password to the fat lady, who had been watching him with raised eyebrows, and then entered the common room.

Yet another dilemma. Should he slump into one of the chairs by the fire and just stare at it until George returned, or should he go straight to bed? The latter would no doubt be the best way to avoid conversation, but he had never been so awake in his entire life. He couldn't possibly sleep. Not now.

He sighed to himself and ran his fingers through his messy, flaming hair before making his way over to the couch closest to the fire. He threw himself over on it and shielded his eyes with his arm. He tried desperately to silence his thoughts by focusing on other matters, such as trying to remember what the Quidditch-magazine had said about the newest broom, how much it had costed, and how many of his own broom equaled to that amount. He stayed like this for a very long time, how long he did not know. His mind was just busy calculating how many hours his father would have to work to be able to afford two of those super-brooms when he could hear the sound of someone stepping through the portrait. His breathing stopped for a moment before he reminded himself that he needed to act as normal as possible. Suddenly, it was as if the solution to everything was very clear to him. Act like nothing happened, at all. George would let it go if Fred let it go, and then they could proceed as normal without ever speaking of it again. In time, it'd be forgotten, perhaps not even remembered. Yes, this was the only way.

"Fred?" George spoke uncertainly from behind the couch. Fred removed his arm from his eyes and shuffled to a sitting position before turning his head to look his brother in the eyes. His courage nearly failed him at the look on George's face. His brother was blushing, quite heavily too, and his gaze was occasionally shifting from Fred to his feet. His hands were fumbling with the pockets of his pants, nervously and awkwardly. Fred felt his voice getting stuck in his throat for a moment before he quickly spoke with a hoarse voice.

"George. What's up?" He realized how retarded this must sound in view of the situation and George responded with a confused expression.

"Uh, nothing much. I just went to the kitchen to have a sandwich." He raised one hand to rub his neck. "Was hungry." He then added sheepishly.

"Oh, cool. Brought one for me too?" Fred tried to smirk, but felt it must appear more like a grimace.

"Sorry, thought you'd gone to bed." George replied slowly. He then narrowed his eyes and peered at Fred, as if catching on what he was doing. "Besides… I don't think you need any late-night snacks. You're…fat enough already." He finished with very little edge to his joke. It was enough encouragement for Fred, who let out a forced laugh before standing up.

"Maybe you should consider that advice yourself. Don't complain to me when the girls start mistaking you for the giant squid. I'm not gonna save you when they try to chase you back to the black lake." Fred's voice was becoming more and more steady, and he rejoiced in it. Yes, this is the best way to go. Definitely the best way to go.

"They'd still be chasing me, not you." George replied with a small smirk, but his eyes remained narrowed and a bit distant.

"Guys how did it go? What'd he make you do?" They suddenly heard a tired voice from the staircase and they both looked up to see Lee hovering there.

"Just polishing some stupid crystals at Trelawney's office." Fred replied quickly. "How did it go for you? Managed to steal anything interesting?"

"It was a nightmare." Lee groaned and tipped his head back against the wall. "That bloody cat kept nosing around, wouldn't leave me alone for a second, and Filch had left me a weird muggle-sort of device to clean with, which felt really funny to the touch. Anyhow, it kept getting dirty, so I had to go rinse it every five minutes. A nightmare!"

"Blimey, sounds like Filch was nicer on us than you. I always wondered who he hated the most." George said thoughtfully. "Seems he detests you just a tiny bit more passionately than us, Lee."

"Can't have that, can we, Georgie?" Fred said with an air of his usual good humour.

"Certainly cannot, Freddie." George replied in equal good theatrics.

"Just come upstairs already. It's bloody cold down here. I didn't know a magical fire's effectiveness could decrease."

Fred and George made their way up to the bed chambers in silence while Lee rattled on about his detention. Fred was very thankful for Lee this very moment. All he needed to do was to stick in a joke here and there to keep the conversation running. Lee seemed oblivious to the slightly tense atmosphere between the two brothers, and Fred vowed that tomorrow it'd be gone, and that tonight would be forgotten. They crawled into bed and Lee's mumbling turned into snoring. Fred and George would usually whisper to each other before falling asleep, but not tonight. Fred parted his curtain slightly to peer at George's bed. His curtains were obscuring him completely, and judging by his breathing, he appeared to lie with his back towards Fred. Silently sighing, Fred let his curtain fall back in place and then turned to lie on his back, facing the ceiling.

Tomorrow everything would be normal. It must be.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys! Sorry again for the wait. Hope you enjoy this chapter! I was struggling a bit with it, but I hope it came out alright!

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><p>The next couple of days passed fairly quickly and Fred was starting to somewhat relax. Granted, the day after the little... incident, had been a nightmare. That morning, the twin's behavior to one another had been stiff and mechanical, but THIS morning, it was all better. They were back in true spirit again and had even played a prank on Lee, which Fred had found strangely more satisfying than he usually would have. So while Lee was heading off to the hospital wing, Fred and George went to get some breakfast.<p>

"What's the schedule for today, Georgie?" Fred asked while correcting the collar of his robe.

"DADA after breakfast." George replied, then flashed a smirk. "Which means we will probably get to hex more Slytherins."

"Dibs on Northorn. His face makes me…-" Fred was abruptly cut off as someone passed the nearby corner and ran straight into him. George quickly steadied his brother and Fred didn't even have time to get angry at himself for the electrifying sensation this contact with his brother brought before the person he had collided with cut off his thoughts with a snide voice.

"Watch where you're going, Weasel." Draco Malfoy said while brushing off his perfectly clean robes, as if they had been stained by the collision. "This castle is dirty enough without the likes of you scuffing about."

Fred was just about to reply, but found himself once again cut off by a voice down the hall.

"Don't you have somewhere else you're supposed to be, Malfoy?" Harry was walking down the corridor, appearing just behind the twins. His stare on Malfoy was indifferent, perhaps a bit annoyed if anything. Fred couldn't help but to get the feeling there was something he was missing out on.

"Ah." Malfoy looked at Harry once, and then turned to the twins to sneer at them. "Saint Potter saves the day as always. I'm sure you'd like to thank him very much, but since you have never owned a single sickle yourselves, you might as well get down on your knees and kiss his feet like the rest of the wizarding world. Potter is generous, I'm sure it'll suffice."

"Enough Malfoy." Harry said, and the blond Slytherin only gave a small smirk before he swiftly took off. Fred and George had been watching the exchange in quiet contemplation.

"Not to be nosy, Harry…" George said.

"…But since when do Malfoy listen to you, or anyone for all that matter?" Fred finished.

Harry looked at them both and quickly shrugged. A bit too quickly, Fred thought.

"Guess he was just afraid you'd hex him into oblivion again." He said.

"Wouldn't be the first time Malfoy runs off with the tail between his legs." George looked at Fred, and Fred could sense that George wasn't quite buying Harry's excuse either.

Fred and George arrived a little bit late for their Defense Against Dark Arts lesson. They had taken all too long with breakfast, discussing what may or may not be going on between Malfoy and Harry. George cracked the idea of a teacher's involvement, and Fred had to admit that it was hardly difficult to imagine McGonagall frighten Malfoy, or anyone, into submission. But still, it was hardly the first time a teacher would interfere. Malfoy had never listened before, so why would the slimy git listen now?

"Mr. Wesley and Mr. Wesley, perhaps you would like to answer what the right approach would be when standing face to face with a vampire?" Professor Moreau's soft tone gave off a slight echo in the big classroom.

Fred and George looked at each other and knew that neither of them had the answer. They hadn't paid attention.

"We would, Professor, but we're not sure about the whole idea of having an "approach"…" George said.

"…We were thinking that more of a… "de-approach" might be more sufficient." Fred followed.

"As in, turn around and run like a house elf from a sock." George shrugged.

They earned themselves twice as much homework as they would have otherwise, and as they walked towards their common room, they ran into Hagrid.

"Ah, why if et isn't te Wesley twins. How are ye doin'?" Hagrid boomed. "Good te see ye here instead of in ter forbidden forest."

"Good you didn't catch us a couple of hours earlier then, Hagrid." Fred smirked.

"Hmpfh." Hagrid snorted. "Better watch out so that ter headmaster dun't hear ye there." He smiled, or at least Fred thought he did. It was hard to tell sometimes, what with all the beard being in the way.

"What are you doing then, Hagrid?" George asked.

"We don't see you walking around here too often." Fred added.

"Was just lookin' fer Harry. I've got sumethin' for him." Hagrid peered around. "Actually, I've got sumethin' fer you two too, if ye're not busy?"

Fred and George glanced at each other.

"Let's hear it, Hagrid." Fred said.

"Well." Hagrid squirmed a bit, then reached into his beard and chest pocket and pulled out something that looked like a crumbled up paper. He handed it to the twins, his movement a bit restless. It was a rather large piece of parchment. Fred held the right side, and George the left, while they both peered at what was written on it.

At first the text made absolutely no sense to either of them. Not only was it written in such a small and clumsy hand, but the little text they could make out did not enlighten them in the very least.

"Hagrid, what is a Dugbog?" Fred peered at Hagrid.

"And Loba…lugs?" George stared at the text, and then eyed Hagrid questioningly.

"Ye'll find out if ye read me book!" Hagrid exclaimed. He visibly relaxed, as if he had been waiting to get to that particular point.

"Your book, Hagrid? Are you…" Fred said.

"…Writing a book?" George finished.

"Wha' do ye think tha' is? A shoppin' list? Ye can bet I've been writin' a book." Hagrid answered proudly. "Tha's ter collection o' ter things I'm gunna write abou'. Just finished it today!"

Fred and George peered at the large parchment once more before handing it back to Hagrid.

"Not bad, Hagrid. When you become famous and all, we'll ask for your autograph." Fred smirked.

"And a magnifier." George added and grinned.

"Yeh, yeh." Hagrid waved a dismissive hand to them both. "Run along now will ye? An' if ye see Harry, tell 'im I've been lookin' fer him."

"Will do, Hagrid." The twins replied in unison before continuing their walk to their common room. As they came to a corridor without windows, they found that the light was out (a common joke from Peeves, nothing unusual). George suddenly grabbed Fred's arm as if to guide him through it. Fred stumbled along and felt his face go red. He hoped that the corridor wouldn't be very long, yet they seemed to walk and walk without getting to the end of it.

Totally engulfed in darkness, George suddenly stopped and put a hand on Fred's chest as to stop him from walking too. This was almost too much for Fred, who felt his breath cut off.

"Wait, there's something fishy going on with this." George's voice echoed. "The corridor must have been enchanted, and Peeves can't do that."

"Then who?" Fred asked, his voice nearly failing him. He couldn't concentrate on the problem at hand while George's hand still rested on his chest.

"Let me think." George mumbled.

The darkness and closeness to George was nearly suffocating Fred. His brother mumbled "Lumos" and a light came forth from George's wand. They looked at each other, then around themselves. They had barely any time to process what they were seeing before a loud shriek was heard and George dropped his wand in surprise, the light disappearing quickly.

Fred had grabbed George and was clenching his shirt while staring around again into complete darkness. George seemed to have frozen, for Fred could tell he was standing completely still. They waited in silence for a while and listened, but the shriek didn't repeat itself.

"What the…actual…" Fred breathed out, his eyes wide even though he could see nothing.

"…freck." George finished, his voice low. Suddenly, a rattling noise was heard, and Fred instinctively pushed George with all his might into a nearby wall, as to get them both out of the way for whatever was approaching. Frozen, the twins heard how the creature came, passed them, and continued on ahead.

"Blimey…" Fred mumbled. "What was that?"

"Umm…Fred?" George said weakly.

"What?"

"You're… sort of… uh- my arms…"

Fred peered downwards, or tried to, then silently mocked himself for attempting to see anything in complete darkness. He understood what George meant, anyway. His hands were tightly pressing George's arms against the wall. With a twist in his stomach, he realized he also had one of his legs in between George's, applying pressure to keep him against the wall at all costs. It had of course been a thing done out of alarm. He was ashamed to admit it, but whatever that rattling thing was, it had scared the bollocks off him.

Despite being in such a pressing situation, Fred found himself slowly losing concentration on the problem at hand. He still hadn't let go of George, he didn't know why. George was very still, as if waiting. Waiting to be released, or something else? Fred couldn't help but to find it a bit strange that George hadn't tried to wrestle himself out of Fred's grip yet. Actually, George had made no effort what so ever to move. Fred swallowed audibly, then carefully loosened his grip, but instead of shoving himself off George and bringing his wand out to get some light, he felt his hands feeling their way down George's wrists and arms. Suddenly, it hit him. The nausea, the lust, the anger, the desperation, it all hit him so violently, as if he'd just run into a wall. Completely overwhelmed, Fred nearly collapsed against George, burying his face in his brother's neck and shutting his eyes tightly. He felt George's arms shoot out to steady him.

"Fred! What…- You…-" George stammered.

"Shut up, George." Fred groaned. "Please just shut up."

"What the freck is going on?"

"Don't bloody ask!" Fred felt his hands shaking, and with an angry roar he withdrew slightly and raised his fist to punch the wall as hard as he could, just next to George. George let out a surprised yelp and fruitlessly tried to grab Fred's arm to stop him from repeatedly smashing his fist into stone.

"Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT!" Fred shouted while punching, blood running down his wrist. He tore himself from George.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" He shouted into the darkness. "WHAT SORT OF SICK JOKE IS THIS? FUCK YOU!"

George pressed himself against the wall, completely bewildered and a little bit intimidated. He had never ever seen, or rather heard, Fred so angry. Fred's words suddenly clicked something into place in George's head, however.

"Fred! Fred! Stop shouting, for Merlin's sake! You're bloody right!" He shouted.

"I'm right about WHAT?" Fred spun around and glared in the general direction of his brother.

"A joke! It's a bloody JOKE!" George exclaimed. "Someone's doing this as an early Halloween prank!"

"But what dim-witted, quarter-brained piece of absolute litter would…-" Fred suddenly turned quiet, then groaned.

"Lee." They said in unison. As if the name of their friend had been a password to a secret mechanism, the hallway suddenly lit up again, and they found themselves standing there awkwardly, with George's wand on the floor and Fred's hand dripping with blood, their faces ashen.

Fred was the first one to move. He ran his unharmed hand through his hair and turned his head to look around them. It seemed no one was there – they were alone.

"I'm gonna drown Lee in one of the toilets." George said breathlessly. He stared at Fred, clearly still shocked by his brother's earlier display of utter rage. He glanced down to Fred's hand and gestured at it weakly. "You should go to Madam Pomfrey."

"No, it'll be fine." Fred muttered and looked away. "I don't think it's broken. A cleaning spell will do the trick." He picked out his wand and half-heartedly flushed his hand with water. Meanwhile, George was picking up his own wand by Fred's feet.

"You good then, Freddie?" George asked, attempting to regain some of that care-freeness of speech that he and Fred usually sported.

"I won't be good until I have turned Lee's face into the same state as my hand was." Fred answered.

* * *

><p>"Brilliant, wasn't it? Revenge is sweet! Just look at me, guys! If you work hard, one day, THIS can be you… after a couple of years." Lee flexed and pointed at himself, obviously very satisfied.<p>

"That's more like me after an accident." Fred said and smirked. He had calmed down on their way back to their common room. He knew that his outburst of unreasonable anger had nothing to do with Lee, or any stupid prank. Not essentially. No, it was all because of his messed up mental disease. The frustration had gotten the better of him. He couldn't explain it in a good way, even to himself, but he just knew that being that close to George had to be forbidden territory from now on. He felt that he should almost give up on the idea of ever being able to casually touch his twin brother again. No, he would take no such risks again.

George was back in good humour as well, at least on the surface. Fred noticed that he kept being watched by George, as if he was expecting him to turn into a flesh-eating monster at any given moment. Fred couldn't really blame him. If it hadn't been for Fred's outburst, he was sure George would've been overall more casual by now, even after such a horrifying experience. Actually, Fred had to admit that Lee's prank had been quite brilliant. It was some outstanding magic, to be sure.

"Honestly, Lee. That creepy thing that came rattling, what the freck was that?" He asked and smirked.

"What? Uh, what thing now?" Lee looked confused.

"The one that went through the hall. It passed right by us!" George exclaimed while staring at Lee.

"No, guys, I didn't put anything like that in there. I only made the hallway shriek as soon as someone attempted to light their wand."

Fred and George glanced at each other, then quickly defended themselves as Lee started saying how they were probably so scared they had started imagining things.

* * *

><p>Fred was eventually forced to head to the Hospital Wing with what he assumed could only be two broken fingers. He cursed his own stupidity and lack of self-control. George had headed for their Herbology lesson with the promise to tell Professor Sprout where his brother had gone off to.<p>

Passing through a corridor (well-lit this time) he heard a rushed, low mumble from a nearby door. He knew the door led to an abandoned classroom, and he stopped in his tracks. For a moment, he thought a couple might have slipped in there to get some privacy while most students were in class, but that was before he heard a raised voice he could not mistake for anyone but Harry. Fred sneaked up to the door and pressed his ear against it.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey guys! First of all I want to say thank you to those who pointed out my mistake with calling the Weasley family "Wesley" at some points. I laughed so hard when I saw the mistakes I made. xD I can only blame it on that I have a friend called Wesley and that it falls natural for me to type it like that. Anyway, thanks for bringing it to my attention! I also have to apologize for being slow with this chapter, as always. Sometimes I seem to have so much on my plate. But that is simply no excuse! Fred and George drama CANNOT wait! And with that said, let's proceed to chapter 6!

* * *

><p>Fred could hardly make out at all what Harry was saying, but there were a couple of things he was quite certain of:<p>

Harry was upset.

Harry was talking to someone.

If that someone would be Malfoy, that means he'd probably be the cause for Harry's anger.

If Malfoy would be the cause for Harry's anger, Fred would probably want to intervene.

If Malfoy was not the cause for Harry's anger, then Fred would still want to know what the hell the two of them were doing in the same room.

Taking a deep breath, Fred opened the door and stuck his head inside, a million of witty insults passing through his brilliant mind, ready to be used against the slimy git that is Malfo…-

There was no Malfoy. There was only Harry. Fred blinked and felt disoriented for a moment. He had been so sure Malfoy would be in there. When he came to think about it, why had he been so sure of that? Sure Harry had been acting strange lately, but that doesn't mean he'd sneak around in abandoned classrooms with the disgusting ferret while other students would be in class. What a stupid idea! He had no idea how he'd come to such conclusion, and he could only attribute it to that his head must have gone fuzzy from the pain in his hand.

Harry was staring at Fred with an expression that probably mirrored his own. It struck Fred how very quiet it was, so quiet he could faintly hear Harry's breathing. Slowly he entered and closed the door behind him, peering at Harry and quickly plastering on a smirk.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to walk into a convention of your friends."

Harry blinked twice and peered around the empty room, but seemed a bit too confused by Fred's appearance to be able to fully comprehend his joke. He slowly seemed to try to collect himself. The colour was rising in his cheeks and he looked rather bothered.

"Uh, Fred… how did you know I was here?" Harry ran a hand through his messy, black hair. It was a bit of a signature move of his, Fred had noted.

"Could hear you miles away, mate. Who were you talking to anyway?" Fred peered around and spotted a closet in the corner of the room. Harry followed his gaze and seemed to understand what Fred was suspecting. He shook his head.

"I was talking to myself." He rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I thought no one would come to this corridor at this time."

"You're right, no one would, except for people with injuries, and complete nutters who feel like having a chat with themselves." Fred held up his broken hand pointedly, a smirk still on his face.

"Oh, what happened to your hand?" Harry peered at Fred's hand in mild astonishment.

"Would have to kill you if I told you." Fred teased. Truthfully, Fred wasn't feeling at all as much at ease as he was giving the appearance of. He didn't usually speak to Harry without George nearby. Actually, he didn't usually speak to anyone without George next to him. The two of them were sort of a package deal – always together. If one was sick, the other one would feign sickness too. If one needed to go somewhere, the other one would surely follow. If one was injured, the other one usually was as well. At this very moment, Fred thanked Merlin for his outstanding ability of appearing unaffected at nearly all times, because Harry's question had brought his thoughts back to the corridor where he hurt his hand, and therefore also back to George.

Harry wasn't anywhere near as skilled an actor as Fred. While he was fairly talented in hiding emotions, he was definitely bad at feigning them. Therefore, Harry would always keep a serious and blank face when he was bothered. He was also unable to control his hands and keeping them from doing all those things that are typical signs for a nervous person. It suddenly struck Fred that Harry wasn't just awkward about having been caught speaking to himself like a lunatic, but that he was in fact VERY nervous. This naturally excited Fred's curiosity.

"So, what are you actually doing, mate?" Fred took a couple of steps towards Harry and felt himself becoming increasingly perplexed as Harry, seemingly subconsciously, took a single step back.

"Nothing." Harry replied quickly. "I was just...thinking out loud."

"Your thoughts must be a very happy place, I take it?" Fred crossed his arms and tilted his head, his red fringe falling to slightly obscure one of his eyes.

"That is one way to describe it." Harry's gaze suddenly turned into an intense stare, his emerald eyes fixed on Fred, who felt something in his chest jump followed by his body turning extremely warm – the same sort of feeling you get when you lean too far back on your chair, or accidentally skip a step in the staircase.

Fred didn't know why Harry's stare would cause such a reaction with him. He felt almost afraid, and suddenly he felt an unexplainable urge to leave. He struggled to keep his face unaffected, but he could tell by the narrowing of Harry's eyes that he had spotted a change in Fred – probably in his eyes. It was always easier to control your facial muscles and body-movement than the look in your eyes.

"It's… unusual to see you without George. You two are always together, I mean." Harry said carefully, and Fred wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question. What he did know, was that Harry's stare was driving him mad. He somehow felt analyzed and cornered. He had to try to pull himself together. Why would he feel awkward about Harry anyway? It was just Harry. And it's not like it was Fred who had just been caught snarling and whining at himself. Gathering some new found courage, he replied:

"I was just heading to the hospital wing. There was no reason for George to skip out on the Herbology." Fred was instantly surprised by his own voice. He spoke too fast, and there was a slight shaky edge to his tone. He also realized he had just answered Harry completely seriously and honestly, without a single hint of a joke or any wit. This if anything was sure to confirm to Harry that Fred was affected. So much for being the better actor of the two.

Fred felt the importance of steering the attention off himself, and he quickly spoke again:

"What were you being so mad about anyway? Does Ron crawl into your bed at night? If that's the case, I know your pain, mate."

Harry smiled, but it looked stiff.

"It's nothing, just…" He seemed to think for a moment, eyeing Fred thoughtfully. It was as if he was considering whether he should let Fred in on what was going on or not. Fred didn't know if it was just his imagination, but he always thought Harry must be pretty closed off from others. He couldn't know himself, of course, as he had no close relationship to Harry at all. He had just always thought that Harry wasn't the sort of person to talk about feelings. It's not like Fred was that sort either. He and George used to occasionally speak about feelings when they were younger, but not nowadays. They'd have no reason to. There was simply nothing bothering them. …Well, usually there wasn't. Fred cursed himself again for messing up their perfect, peaceful world with his bullshit. Suddenly, Harry spoke again. "It's…complicated."

Fred glanced around before moving over to sit on top of a desk next to Harry. "I'm the master of riddles." Fred wasn't sure why, but he was keeping a fair distance from the black-haired boy. Something in his eyes still made him very uneasy, although he wasn't sure what.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair again, momentarily breaking their eye-contact. Fred relaxed, and only then did he realize how very tense he had been. He had barely been breathing, for Merlin's sake. What was wrong with him?

"Is your hand alright?" Harry asked.

"It's only a bit smashed to shit." Fred smirked, then at Harry's look he quickly added. "I can barely feel it. What is it that is complicated?"

Harry squirmed a bit, then slowly walked over to sit on the desk in front of Fred's, returning all the force of his eyes onto the ginger, who instantly felt his breath getting stuck in his throat again. Why?! Fred groaned quietly to himself and forcefully pushed his thoughts away. What mattered right now was what Harry had to tell him.

"I…" Harry sighed and lowered his head a bit, gazing down at his knees. Well, if he wanted to avoid eye-contact, that suited Fred just fine. "Look, lately I've… sort of…" Harry swallowed audibly. "I feel…different. As in, uh, different from the others."

Fred wasn't sure whether this was the time to make a 'Boy-who-wouldn't-throw-in-the-towel-for-Voldemort-joke'. He remained silent at first, waiting for Harry to continue, but upon receiving no further explanation, he felt he had to press the matter a bit. "Different, how?"

"I…" Harry clenched the fabric of his jeans, and it was only then Fred noticed that the hands of The-Boy-Who-Lived were shaking. Harry shook his head, then looked up at Fred, who had to grab the edge of the desk by his legs to keep steady. His hand ached, but he barely noticed. How could a person's eyes be so green? And not just green, but really…DARK green. It was just sick. And he had no idea what to make of the look Harry was giving him. It was like a pleading for him to understand, but yet at the same time, panicky at the idea of being understood.

The force of Harry's gaze on Fred brought him into near trembling. He thought it was almost like an immense force was emitting from Harry's form. As if he was so ridiculously powerful that one couldn't look him in the eyes without having ones survival instincts go mental. Yes, that's exactly how it felt. With a pang, Fred realized that he was in fact AFRAID of Harry. Not just intimidated, but genuinely scared. Sincerely freaked out. What the hell was up with that? He started to feel horribly stupid, as is predictable for his character. Fred once more tried to push his thoughts and feelings aside. He had to listen to Harry. Hell, he was dying to listen to Harry. He was so curious he didn't know what to do with himself, and at the same time he was being distracted by this feeling of unreasonable alarm. Merlin, could his mind get any more messed up from here on?

With all the internal dialogue Fred was having, he didn't realize that Harry had been staring at him in silence for quite a while. He hadn't diverted his gaze. They were staring intently into each other's eyes, and it suddenly struck Fred that Harry's internal dialogue must be entirely different from his own. What the hell was Harry thinking? Why was he staring at him like that? Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he awkwardly turning away like he usually would?

Slowly, Harry stood up from his desk, and Fred found himself mimicking his movement. Harry was breathing heavily, and Fred helplessly grabbed the edge of his desk again and leaned back against it for support. He felt like he couldn't move, he was absolutely frozen in place. Suddenly, Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, then muttered something Fred only just managed to catch as "Sorry, gotta go." before he bolted past him and out of the classroom.

He was gone so quickly that Fred had neither time to react nor pay close attention to the fact that the two paintings on each side of the exit swayed as Harry passed them. He blinked several times, then brought a shaky hand up to his forehead and felt that he was clammy from sweat.

What just happened?

* * *

><p>"Hey Fred, looks like you messed up your hand so bad you couldn't make it at all to the lesson. I'd ask what bloody took you so long, but I was paired up with Hannah Adams, so you're forgiven, and you have my permission to stay away the following lesson as well." George grinned widely and Lee let out a not so very charming belch.<p>

They were in the common room. They had their afternoon free from lessons, but Fred had already spent a big part of it, including his lunch, at Madame Pomfrey's. His hand was now completely healed, which was only almost worth all the ranting he had to put up with from the school's nurse.

To be fair, Fred had been able to concentrate on very little next to Harry. He longed to speak to George about what had happened, although he'd definitely leave out the part where he had been a royal pansy. Such an opportunity very soon presented itself, because Lee soon disappeared from the common room with a cocky comment about there being "someone he promised to meet."

There were very few people in the common room aside from Fred and George, so Fred waved George over to join him in the corner, far away from the fireplace which was the most popular to sit by.

They sat down on a comfy chair each, and Fred told George all that had passed on his way to the hospital wing; How he had heard Harry being clearly upset, how Harry had looked so strange and talked about feeling different, and how he'd bolted out of the room faster than a Nimbus. George only once asked about what Fred's general behavior during this meeting was, and Fred dodged it by casually saying he acted "completely normal" and that he had really tried to make Harry tell him what was up.

George stroked his chin and looked thoughtful. The spell that formed his flaming hair into its stylish hairdo was starting to lose its effect, and several curls were hanging in his face. Fred absentmindedly brought his own hand to his hair and felt that his must be in no better state. Suddenly George looked up at Fred, his ice-blue eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Did he ever mention Malfoy?"

"Malfoy? Merlin, no, I would've remembered that. He didn't mention anyone at all. Only stuttered and never really got to the point." Fred tilted his head curiously, and they both leaned in to speak lower, to for certain avoid being heard by the others in the common room.

"I think…" George breathed lowly, and Fred felt his face go red at the proximity. "…That this must have something to do with Malfoy."

"What makes you think that?" Fred asked and lowered his eyes to stare at his own hands, avoiding George's intense and close gaze.

"Remember how strange they've been acting recently? You know we spoke about how there might have been a teacher who intervened or something. What if…" He lowered his voice even more. "…What if Harry is being manipulated by Malfoy?"

"Manipulated? What is there to manipulate him into? Trying to convince him that the Deatheaters aren't such unpleasant lads after all?"

"I don't know! But what if he puts on some stupid act of remorse and insecurity and tries to make Harry think he's not the rotten piece of dump he actually is?" George raised both his eyebrows, and Fred slowly raised his gaze to peer at his brother.

"That'd be messed up."

"So when Harry says he's feeling different…"

"…Maybe he's talking about his changed perception of Malfoy…"

"…Which he knows would be ridiculed and bashed to hell by everyone he knows…"

"Blimey." Fred groaned. "If Malfoy is manipulating Harry, and Harry feels like he can't tell anyone he's actually befriending the ferret, then Malfoy's got him exactly where he'd want him."

George nodded slowly. "It's a curse-proof plan. I bet Malfoy never thought anyone would catch on."

"I guess it'd be bloody dim-witted to speculate around why Malfoy would like Harry to trust him." Fred said.

"Yeah, nothing is as obvious as that." George agreed. He paused and awkwardly looked at Fred, who squirmed a bit in his seat. "So what do you think we should do?" George rubbed his neck.

Fred narrowed his eyes in thought, then smirked broadly.

"We use The Marauder's Map to stalk them, of course!"

George quickly stood up from his seat. He looked excited. "Brilliant, Freddie. I'll get the map!"

While George ran off to the dormitory, Fred sunk back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Sometimes, it was very draining to force himself to concentrate on things next to his little problem. He recognized the importance of his concentrating now, what with Harry quite possibly being in danger, not only from Malfoy but from the Deatheaters as well. Soon, George turned up with the map.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." George eagerly tapped the parchment with his wand, and they both leaned in, their foreheads touching as they peered down at the map.

After reading the usual greetings-lines from the creators of the map, whom Fred greatly admired and wished he could shake hands with one day, the map revealed itself and they both quickly spotted Malfoy, who seemed to be on his way to the library. Harry was in potions class, it seemed.

"Hmm… well, they are not together now." Fred muttered. He couldn't help but notice how George's fringe was tickling his forehead.

"Let's go!" George said quickly.

"What? Why?" Fred looked up at George, who was already standing up.

"Harry is in potions class." George said and stared at Fred as if he was a neanderthal.

"So what?" Fred rubbed his neck.

"Blimey, Freddy. Use your brains! Gryffindor shares potions class with what house?"

Fred stared at him. "Slytherin."

"Correct. And Malfoy is not in class, where he's supposed to be." George rolled his eyes and smirked. "I guess it's true what they say about that only -great- minds think alike."

"That's a pretty harsh thing to say to your twin brother." Fred snorted.

"Well Fred, up until now I've also been -hinting- harsh things, but I'm starting to suspect that those little trains never arrived at their destination."

They walked through the corridor while keeping an eye each on the map. Malfoy was now in the library, and since he wasn't moving on the map anymore, they assumed he took a seat, or dropped dead ("One has to stay positive!"). Regardless, they decided they'd take a look at what book or books he was reading. George folded the map and put it in his pocket before they entered the library. Malfoy was easy to spot with his silver-blond hair. Fred thought the git's hair was like a bloody lantern amongst the more regular, dull colours of the students. So truly unsubtle. He ran a hand through his flaming hair and realized that perhaps he wasn't one to talk, when George hissed at him.

"What's he doing? The prat isn't reading anything!"

True enough, Malfoy was just sitting there, staring at the table in front of him with distant eyes. Fred was a bit put off by the fact that Malfoy didn't look as much like an arrogant moron when he didn't know he was being watched. Because the snot was so deep in thought, his face didn't display the repulsive condescension it usually would. Fred thought he looked a bit bothered, bordering on upset. He tore his eyes off the Slytherin, feeling uneasy. He and George thought Malfoy was, without competition, the greatest and most obnoxious prat of Hogwarts. It was uncomfortable to watch him even appearing to be otherwise.

Fred and George glanced to each other, then simultaneously exited the library. As soon as they were out, George grabbed Fred's arm and pulled him along into a nearby classroom.

"There should be no more DADA lessons today. Let's wait here until Malfoy gets his sorry arse moving again." George said and shut the door behind them. He dug into his pocket and picked up the map, then placed it on what was normally Professor Moreau's teacher's desk.

"Just gotta keep an eye on him." George added. He heaved himself up on the desk, keeping the map next to him. Fred hesitated, but then moved to sit down beside George. He silently reminded himself of what he had decided: Not to touch George again, not even casually.

"Hey, Fred." The tone of George's voice had Fred instantly alarmed. It was too careful to be followed by anything casual, and by that, anything that Fred could bear replying to.

"No, I won't call you Georgiana no matter how much you prefer it." Fred instantly threw out, and George let out a small laugh.

"I was just wondering about earlier. When you decided to assault a stone wall whilst completely unarmed, that is."

"Some people would call it recklessness, others bravery. You may take your pick." Fred smirked broadly, although he felt as if he was about to puke on the inside. George smirked back at him, and Fred felt himself get a bit annoyed. George obviously wanted to know something of Fred, but Fred wouldn't let him ask, and they were both too bloody unserious to simply set their feet down and just talk. It struck him that it must have been a very long time since they spoke very seriously with one another at all.

Fred seemed to have underestimated George, however, and was soon asked:

"Why did you get so angry?" They looked at each other; and George, seemingly just as bad as Fred at handling the serious atmosphere that was threatening to take over, added: "All it did was being stony. And bricky."

"Those aren't even words."

"Stony is."

"I'd like to stone your face."

"You can always practice on your own."

They both took deep breaths, their smirks faltering a bit. Damn stubborn, serious atmosphere. George was fiddling with the hem of his white shirt which he carried beneath his now open rope. The silence that fell on them was enough to make Fred feel increasingly nervous, not to mention warm. He unbuttoned his own robe and let it fall from his shoulders. He then stretched his arms and glanced over at George, who was watching him with a weird look in his eyes.

"What?" Fred asked, a bit too quickly.

"Nothing." George shrugged care-freely. Fred thought back of how he had felt himself so superior over Harry's acting skills. At this moment, he wished George and Harry could've swapped talents, or lack thereof. He knew for a fact that George was putting up an act just as much as he was, and that was very frustrating. He had no idea how to initiate a serious conversation, nor did he have any idea of how to proceed in it.

George was probably thinking him a nutcase. It was naïve of Fred to have thought he'd get away with his violent display of anger in the dark corridor. He sighed quietly, then simply crossed his arms, arranged his facial expression into one of care-freeness, and decided that he'd just stay quiet, no matter how thick the air would get. Yes, that was the best solution. It was a far more preferable awkwardness than the one he'd have to put up with if he'd talk.

Suddenly, Fred felt something bump against his shoulder. Glancing to his right, he saw that George was actually leaning his head against him. As he stared at George's flaming red hair, his brother raised his head slightly to stare up at Fred. George's eyes gave Fred more answers than any words or bad acting skills ever could have. There was clear challenge in them, with a mere hint of mild wariness and something that could be taken for curiosity.

Fred felt his face go red and his heart raced until he was certain it'd simply shoot out of his chest. He felt the panic slowly coming to overwhelm him, a thousand of questions popping into his head at once. What the hell was George doing? Was George testing him? If so, what the bloody hell did he expect Fred to do?

George suddenly withdrew and sat straight once more. He stared at Fred through narrowed eyes, and Fred felt that he was being thoroughly analyzed for the second time that day. Feeling that he was about to be completely seen-through, he straightened and tried to collect himself.

"What's with the cuddling, Georgie? Lost your favourite teddy bear again?" Fred tried, his voice sounding hoarse.

"Something's up."

"Nothing is up."

"That is evident from the fact I can't tell your hair and face apart."

"It's not my fault this stupid spell doesn't keep it out of my face all day as it should."

"I was referring to the redness."

Fred made a hopeless gesture, now feeling perfectly on the edge of freaking out. "What are you playing at, George?"

"I'm not the one brutally murdering my hand against stone walls for no other reason than darkness." They both smirked, and Fred knew they only did to cope with the situation.

"So I overreacted a bit."

"Like just now?" George asked quietly, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable. Fred felt his breath getting caught in his throat, and after a while, he simply muttered: "Yes, exactly like just now."

George turned quiet, and Fred thought that his brother somehow understood. Merlin knew he didn't want him to understand, but maybe it'd at least make him stop asking Fred questions, and maybe he'd even help him with ignoring it to the end of days, until it'd disappear. It was a fact that George was the best ally Fred could have in this situation, although Fred would probably drown himself five times over in the black lake before he admitted his feelings out loud.

George shifted a bit and, glancing down at the other side of the desk, suddenly exclaimed: "Malfoy has left the library!"

Fred stood up quickly. "Where is he?" He quickly grabbed his robe and made a big deal out of buttoning it, to avoid looking at George.

"He's…" George peered closely at the map, hiding his face behind it. Fred had to feel a pang of wry amusement at how very awkward they both had gotten from the conversation. "He's heading for the dungeons." George sounded disappointed. "Blimey, what a bloody git." He added, as if Malfoy was despicable for going to bed in the evening.

"Sod it, let's just go catch something to eat and then get back to the common room." Fred said, almost managing to sound completely normal. "We'll continue our mission tomorrow."

George, after muttering "Mischief managed", pushed the map into his pocket and followed Fred out of the classroom. On their way through the great halls, George was very busy straightening his perfectly ironed sleeves, and Fred was very busy inspecting the wallpapers.

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><p>Let me know what you thought! Keep the lovely reviews coming, they really make my day! Cheers to you all!<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys! Thank you so much for the reviews! There will be loads of George and Fred action in this one, so I hope it shall satisfy you!

Please keep the reviews coming. I adore them. And you. Yes, you. Really.

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><p>Stalking Malfoy the following day proved to be more uneventful and more difficult than the brilliant Weasley twins had anticipated. Malfoy had begun the day by eating breakfast – nothing unusual there. He had then gone to class, and after that he had spent one hour being cooed by the rat-faced Slytherin witch whom Fred thought was called Parkin-something. Lunch followed, and then another class. Fred and George could hardly stalk Malfoy while in class, as they had to attend their own, but they kept their map with them constantly, always ready to take a quick peek at it to see if the ferret stepped out of line.<p>

But the ferret did not step out of line for the whole day, and as Fred and George stealthily followed him into the dungeons, the only exciting thing they got to see was him aiming a kick at Mrs. Norris before stepping into the Slytherin common room.

"What an utter ponce." George commented as he and Fred were walking through the dark corridors of the dungeon. "Why isn't he doing what he's supposed to?"

"Getting picked off by natural selection?" Fred smirked, and George grinned in reply.

"Don't get me wrong. He's always a bloody git, but why isn't he doing…you know, git-y things?"

"Maybe he really does have nothing to do with Harry after all." Fred rubbed his neck.

"He must have. Our gut feelings are never wrong." George argued.

Fred turned quiet for a while. He actually hadn't thought of Malfoy as the reason behind Harry's strange behavior. But on the other hand, (he recalled with a sudden odd feeling in his stomach) he HAD been completely convinced from the very beginning that Harry was in that room with Malfoy. He hadn't thought much about that stupid presumption, but now that George mentioned it, he must attribute it to having been a gut feeling of his.

George was watching Fred pondering, and as they took a turn to the left, they entered a rather narrow corridor which led to a couple of big storages. No one would usually come down there, except for Filch. It wasn't a very exciting place to be at for most people, but Fred and George had known better than to disregard such an area because of its dull appearance. One year earlier they had thoroughly searched through the whole corridor, including the storages (which the Marauder's map had actually provided the magical passwords to!) and they had actually found a secret room. One could enter it if one tapped the third brick from the floor and followed it up by making a circular pattern with their wand over a nearby painting. The bricks would then appear to melt, and a hole would appear which one could crawl into.

The room had proved invaluable to the twins. From the very day that they discovered it, they decided it'd be the new hideout for their experiments. The twins were known for carrying around illegal magical objects, or keeping them in their bedchamber, so it wasn't unusual for them to be randomly searched by Filch or even a teacher. This room provided the safe-haven that they needed.

Fred watched as George brought out his wand to tap the brick and to open the entrance to the room. They both crawled in, and Fred winced a bit when a drop of melted brick came in contact with the back of his shirt. The entrance swiftly rebuilt itself when they were both safely inside.

The room wasn't large, but they had furnished it practically and quite nicely. A table was in the middle, with two high chairs on each side. It was originally made from brown wood but had acquired big black and rusty stains over it as a result from various experiments. They would've reparo'd it, but the stains from their experiments were of such a different brand that a simple spell wouldn't work on them. Fred and George were very pleased with this fact.

In the corner, there was a couch which George had created by transmuting a couple of books. Fred was still quite impressed. A dusty bed (also the work of George's genius transmuting skills) was placed in the far corner, for all the times when the twins stayed up the whole night experimenting and simply getting too tired to return to their common room.

As George walked over to the rusty table in order to place the map on it, Fred watched him at a distance. They hadn't been to their hideout since…things happened. Fred couldn't help but feel that George had perhaps consciously avoided suggesting for them to head there because of its seclusion. Fred started to feel a bit nauseous by this fact, but it was quickly overwhelmed by a yet greater nausea at his realizing that they now were there, and that George either started trusting Fred not to do anything too bad, or he was relaxed enough to think that Fred simply wouldn't try anything at all.

"Look, Freddie, I know you have a limited amount of brain cells." George suddenly spoke loudly. "So I'll give you a hand by telling you to get your arse over here."

Fred returned to the present at the speed of light. He quickly walked over to George's side, careful not to touch the other boy's elbow as he leaned over the map on the table. Malfoy was still in his common room.

"So what's the plan?" Fred muttered.

"We keep an eye on Malfoy." George said, and then after a pause added: "And Harry."

"Could be a good idea."

"Could be a brilliant idea."

Fred peered at Harry's little dot on the map. There was nothing odd with Harry being in the Gryffindor quarters in the evening, but what was odd was that he appeared to be pacing back and forth in his bed chambers. George had spotted the weird behavior as well, and they both watched Harry's dot crawling back and forth on the map for a while, before Fred glanced down on it to check on Malfoy.

…Malfoy was also pacing.

"Hey, Georgie!" Fred elbowed his brother and pointed at Malfoy's dot.

"Blimey." George said, his eyes shifting from Harry to Malfoy, from Malfoy to Harry, both dots moving in an almost creepily synchronized way on each side of the map.

"That's totally bonkers." Fred said. "How is that even possible?"

"They're both…restless, or something else?" George frowned, then suddenly let out a mild gasp.

"What?" Fred turned to stare at George.

"Freddie! Harry is being mind-controlled! It has to be the Imperio!"

Fred stared at the map for a while, considering the possibility. He shook his head.

"That's demented. Why would Malfoy make Harry walk safely back and forth in his room? Besides…" Fred frowned in thought. "Didn't Ginny mention that Harry could shake off The Imperius Curse?"

"Oh yeah…" George frowned as well, making their faces identical. They stood in silence for a while. Suddenly, and again in perfect synchronization, Malfoy and Harry's dots stopped pacing on the map. George slopped back on the couch, but Fred stayed at the table. He was watching the map for any possible changes, but it seemed like Malfoy and Harry had both decided to remain still for a while.

"Freddie?" George mumbled, and Fred felt his face go red for no reason at all.

"What?" Fred realized that he was probably being a bit edgy, uncharacteristically so. He honestly wasn't annoyed or anything, he was just on his guard. For that very reason, he kept his back to George, fixing his eyes on the map for dear life.

"You know, you're acting sort of…weird." George cut himself off. Fred was sure he'd never heard his brother sound as uncomfortable as he did now.

"I mean…" George continued after a pause." Is there anything you want to, you know, tell me? Except that you're a raging homosexual, of course. I already figured that one out."

It was evident that George felt the unsuitableness of his joke, considering the situation. It was the same thing over again. They were horrible at serious conversations. Fred honestly didn't understand why George even tried, and he started to feel very annoyed about it. A little voice in his head reminded him that George no doubt was bringing up these taboo subjects in sincere worry and consideration, but the annoyance and panic he felt in dealing with it would overshadow all charity in the world.

Trying to calm his twitching hands by grabbing firmly onto the edge of the desk, Fred replied. "I have bloody nothing to say."

George remained quiet for a good while before he spoke again. "What the bloody hell do you mean you have nothing to say?" Fred noted that George started to sound slightly annoyed himself. Good. In case Fred would lose his temper, he wouldn't have to feel like he was beating on a puppy at least.

"I mean exactly what I said. I have nothing to say." He replied and glared at Neville Longbottom's tiny dot that was heading for the entrance hall.

"That's such utter bollocks, and you know it." George muttered loudly. Fred felt his face go very warm, and the redness of it was no doubt spreading to his ears.

"Butt out, George." He replied, his voice low. Shortly after his comment, he heard the sound of George leaving the couch and coming up behind him.

"And what if I don't bloody want to?" George said just behind Fred, who clenched the desk's edge with all his might. Fred really didn't want to be confronted with this. Not now, not ever. Why wouldn't George just stop asking? Why wouldn't he just stay the hell away?

"I'm serious, George, don't push it." Fred raised his voice, feeling the usual panic announcing its presence.

"Push it, how? Good Godric, Fred, I just want to know what the hell is up! Why won't you just tell me?"

"What do you THINK is up, George?! Haven't I…-" Fred cut himself off, then shakily continued: "Isn't it bloody obvious?!"

"No, no it isn't! You've just… done and said really… uh." George trailed off. "…Really, well… demented things. You haven't actually told me why."

"Butt OUT, George. It's none of your business!" Fred groaned. His insides were going mental, and he felt as if he was going to throw up at any given moment.

"Sod off, I'm not letting it go this time, so just bloody tell me." George snarled. Fred felt very awkward, and very bad. He and George didn't usually fight. If they did, it was never for any serious reasons. But while he was feeling like someone just shoved four fingers into his throat and tickled his gag-reflexes, and while he was feeling bad for getting into a fight with George, his anger was still the most prominent emotion he felt. His whole body was shaking and urging to just throw everything in the room to hell.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his back, trailing up to his shoulder. He froze, and his breathing was abruptly cut off.

"George…" He warned. "I swear…"

"You swear what?" It was the challenging tone in George's voice that had Fred spin around and grab his twin's arms, hard. George let out a surprised yelp, his eyes wide as he stared at Fred's enraged expression.

"You're pushing it." Fred snarled. It didn't take long for George to turn his surprised expression back into a confident, almost challenging one. He glared daggers at Fred while raising his eyebrows.

"What are you going to do?" He taunted, and Fred felt his vision blur for a split second. He spun George around and violently pressed him onto his stomach on the table. George struggled at first, clearly panicked, but Fred held him in place, the adrenaline pounding in his ears. He moved one hand from George's elbow onto his neck, taking a rock solid grip while muttering into his ear.

"This. And don't think that I fucking wouldn't…" Fred cut himself off. He was so angry he felt capable of doing nearly anything. George was so close, it was impossible for him not to pay attention to that fact. His body reacted accordingly, reminding him of the bane of his life, and it pissed him off beyond what could be measured.

George, whose eyes had never been so wide, and who had probably never hyperventilated so much in his life, let out a half-frustrated, half-frightened groan.

"What the FUCK, Fred? Do fucking what?! Let me go!"

"I warned you not to bloody TEST me, George. Why do you have to be so god darn pushy?!" Fred snarled. His blood was boiling, pounding loudly in his ears. Why did George have to push the issue so much? Why would he take such a stupid risk as to piss Fred off, when he knew of his recent aggression issues?

"You…" George's voice suddenly turned meek, full of disbelief. "…You wouldn't."

Wouldn't? Wouldn't what? Fred stared down at George, and realized just exactly how dominant his position was. His stomach made a powerful somersault when George's words suddenly made sense to him. George thought he'd…use him, or something? The moment the thought entered Fred's head, he once more felt the weird sensation of being overwhelmed by several emotions and urges at once. There is just no way he'd hurt George, that'd be messed up. It'd be messed up in all ways. He felt sick when realizing that he'd probably put them in this position because of a subconscious want to… do something with it. Now when he was actually standing there; panting, insane eyes, red hair unruly and heart pounding like a bulldozer, holding down an identical bloke who only differed from him by the look in his eyes; he realized just how out of his mind he must be. George was no doubt frightened, yet he seemed to have frozen, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. He turned his head slightly, as much as he could, to glance over his shoulder at Fred, the look in his eyes matching his earlier tone of voice; full of disbelief. No, it was evident that George didn't expect Fred to actually harm him. That fact made Fred feel slightly less like a slimy monster. What was also evident, however, was that George was in shock. He probably never thought Fred would use such means to intimidate him, and all he seemed to be trying to figure out now was whether he was right in supposing that Fred actually was threatening to sexually harm him, or if there was some other reason behind their chosen position.

Fred carefully loosened his grip on George's neck. He felt shocked by his own actions, and now he didn't know what to say or do. George didn't move, but stayed in the same position and simply stared back into Fred's eyes. It was frustrating for Fred. He wished George would just shove him off completely and move away. For some reason, he couldn't find the strength to move away himself.

A minute went by in complete silence before George slowly rose and carefully spun around to face Fred, who didn't move much except to give George the space to actually turn. Fred had dropped both his hands to his sides and he couldn't remember when he had done so. In fact, it seemed like he couldn't remember anything at all, barely even his own name. George was in front of him, ridiculously close; so close their fringes touched. Fred would've normally had a loud, internal dialogue where he'd ask himself over and over again why George wasn't moving away, but it seemed like his brain had finally shut down. He started to feel horribly tired, as if he'd spent a lifetime in physical labour. He supposed that the brain could only handle so much. He was so sick of it all. Sick and tired. He couldn't find the will to run away, to act indifferent or to even speak. He didn't care if George could read all the messed up thoughts and feelings in his mind. He really didn't care anymore. Not right now.

George was staring into Fred's eyes, his own narrowed – the telltale sign that he was really trying to understand what Fred was feeling and thinking about. No doubt, he'd figured out that Fred was horribly tired and that he had shut down emotionally. Fred didn't know if he could tell anything else. Honestly, what can you tell from such a blank face?

Suddenly, it was as if the atmosphere in the whole room shifted. It changed so abruptly that Fred felt a shiver down his spine. He couldn't tell at first what had happened, but then he realized it had been George's eyes doing. George was staring at him, intently. His ice blue eyes were so intense, and so close, that Fred could tell every detail of his irises. George was closer than before. Fred numbly noted this, and he felt his knees starting to shake.

"Fred… That time. In Trelawney's classroom." George spoke carefully and uncomfortably.

Fred twitched and struggled to keep his emotions down, locked behind the shield his head had produced to save him from going insane. He didn't reply, and George paused for a long moment before speaking again.

"I honestly don't know what the hell that was about. I don't…" He let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know why that happened or how. It's just impossible. I haven't…been able to process it, at all."

So George had reacted the same way as Fred, then. What had happened during their last detention had been so sick, so surreal, so utterly impossible, that neither of them could grasp it. It had been shut into the depths of both minds, and hadn't it been for Fred's stupid and uncontrollable sick urges, they might have actually forgotten it in time, the same way one forgets a trauma which is too much for a human brain to handle. But no, Fred kept landing them in this place, dragging them both back to face what can't and should never be faced. He'd continuously proven that he couldn't let it go, and now George was forced to take the matter into his own hands and do the only sane yet painfully awkward thing: Confront Fred about it.

Fred only fleetingly felt a mild sense of panic before it was stilled and his mind once again turned blank. He needed to keep himself indifferent, he needed to remain in control, he couldn't allow any feelings to escape him. He tried to focus on reading George's emotions and thus stay away from lingering on his own. It struck him that George seemed very embarrassed, and bordering on devastated. He also saw that George's hands were twitching and that his brother didn't seem to know what to do with them. First they were on his pockets, then in his pockets, then on his collar, then by his sides, and then on his neck. He seemed increasingly distressed, and Fred felt a sudden feeling of mild alarm. It was like his instincts were warning him that something was about to happen; that the situation was taking a turn for the worse. He barely had time to linger on this thought before George grabbed Fred's shoulders and pulled him against him, their foreheads touching.

"I…" George breathed, his eyes wide. "Tell me what the fuck is happening, Freddie."

Fred only realized he wasn't breathing when his head started swimming and he was seeing black spots. He blinked several times and forced himself to focus. He became vaguely aware that he had raised his hands to lean with them against the desk's edge behind George.

"I don't fucking know." Fred groaned, and his voice sounded alien to him. It was shaking, it was hopeless, and it was defeated.

"What the bloody hell happened back then?" George insisted, although it sounded like he was dying to just run away.

"I don't know-I…"

"Liar." George muttered shakily. "It's driving me insane, Fred. Really, I can't…I don't fucking get anything!"

"I'm sorry, okay?" Fred raised his voice slightly, and they both fell into a deep silence in which only their shaky breaths could be heard.

"I just…can't we just be like before?" George quietly groaned after a while. "This is so messed up, I don't even… know… I… can't we just go back to bloody normal? We almost did, sometimes, these past days."

"I know, I want to as well, Merlin knows I do." Fred sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the last piece of energy draining from him at a rapid pace.

"This is utter bollocks, Fred. I don't know what…- Maybe if we…-"

"I was never prepared for this."

"You shouldn't be. It's bloody disgusting." George muttered shakily. Fred winced a bit at the expression, but couldn't do anything else but agree. Yes, it was bloody disgusting. He was disgusting. They were both disgusting. Why were they here, and even more so, why were they still so close? His trademark anger was now punching at the shield in his mind, trying to break it and get through. But Fred wouldn't let it. He'd be damned if he let it.

"Fred…" George spoke lowly, and something in Fred kneaded his intestines. Fuck, he was losing it. He really didn't know how he was losing it, but he knew he was in some way. Before he could try to collect himself once more, he felt George taking a firmer grip on his shoulders. Why would he do that? He fleetingly wondered if George had spotted how very unstable Fred's knees were at this point, and that he felt like steadying him, when he suddenly felt a hot breath against his lips. It erased all his thoughts at the speed of light, sweet nothingness took over, and he swiftly opened his eyes to stare into George's, the same shape and colour. The very same.

Fred let out a low groan before closing the distance between them. Or George did. He wasn't sure who leaned in first. All he knew was that he was kissing George, and that he was doing it fiercely. He pressed himself against his identical twin, the only person in the world who looked just like him, and who thought just like him, and who knew him just like he was. George moaned quietly into Fred's mouth, and he felt a sudden adrenaline rush exploding in his veins, empowering his weakened body. He moved one hand from the edge of the rusty table and grabbed George's hip, pressing them as closely to one another as was possible. The friction was deadly to Fred. The animal in him growled in satisfaction as he occupied both his hands with feeling George's body. His sides, his hips, his back, his neck, his hair, everything, he needed to feel everything. He didn't care anymore. Damn everything else.

George's hands had long left Fred's shoulders and were now placed in his brother's flaming hair, passionately running his fingers through it and occasionally pulling at it in mild frustration. The heat between them only increased when George pulled back to resume kissing and biting down Fred's neck. Fred tilted his head back and stared into the ceiling without seeing it, his mouth slightly open and his heavy breathing irregular. A part of his mind was trying to gain his attention, but quite in vain. The only thought that managed to reach his head was the fact that George was kissing him. The fact that he wasn't the only one pushing it this time. He didn't know how to feel about it. His stomach reminded him of what a disgusting crime he was committing, but his shield still allowed him not to care. He moved his hands to George's shirt and tore at the buttons, successfully tearing it open and revealing fair skin. Fred ran his fingers down George's now naked chest, his hand stopping at the hem of his brother's pants. He carefully grabbed George's belt, feeling the cold metal against his burning hand. Man, he was so warm. He'd never been so warm in his life. He wanted to remove every piece of clothing that was left between the two of them. He didn't care. He really didn't anymore.

Fred took a deep breath, and then something in him snapped. He'd been unguarded, he'd been uncareful. All emotions came at him at once, overwhelming him with why's and what-the-fuck's, tearing him down with guilt and disgust. What the actual fuck was he doing? What the fuck was George doing? What the hell were they doing? Who started it? Hell, it didn't matter who started it! They had to stop. Stop, stop, stop.

It was almost as if George could hear Fred's internal dialogue, or he might have experienced the same thing at the exact same time. He froze in his movement, his eyes widened, and he let out something of a shocked yelp.

Their eyes met, and the world stood still.


End file.
